Between a Bear and a Hard Place(78)

He was regaining memories day by day, and now regaining senses? Like real senses? Not digitally processed? Not run through computer filters? Not part of a complex neural network that connected me to a million others just the same? Real, honest-to-goodness senses. Human senses.

Two clicking, squishing, and then scrunching over carpet steps toward the desk, toward Eckert, his creator, his condemner. Eighty-Three could already feel his fingers pushing into the flab around the man’s neck. He fantasized, momentarily, about the warmth as they sunk into the flesh, and the pleasure he knew he’d feel when Eckert’s eyes bulged in their sunken, watery sockets.

Eckert hadn’t moved – if he even could – he’d just been coolly regarding the new guest in his office with the detached fascination of a scientist watching an experiment.

An... experiment? Oh no, a feeling of panic surged in Eighty-Three’s throat. The sour taste in his mouth was replaced with something bitter and awful. Is this fear?

His heart beat faster, faster, faster still.

Beads of sweat popped up on his forehead, and were wicked away by the fans behind the mask.

Love, fear, hate, all in one day. What else was there to learn?

“Hum,” Eckert whispered. Eighty-Three drew closer. “You made it all the way here. That’s,” the man paused to hold something to his neck, which whistled as air rushed out, fluttering the scarf. “Not entirely my hypothesis. Interesting nonetheless.”

“What am I?” Eighty-Three heard himself say. His voice was distant, but he recognized it as his own. The lisp was there, after all.

Eckert continued to regard him coolly, scarf moving out, then in, sucking against the gap in his neck.

Eighty-Three took another step toward the desk. A great booming came from below, and then a crash. He tilted his head to listen for a moment, and sensed just the slightest tinge of upset in the beads of sweat that appeared on Eckert’s face, which in the light of his office looked to be about the same pale yellow color as old scrambled eggs.

“You’ll stop now,” Eckert said.

There was another pinching sensation in Eighty-Three’s chest, but that was all. His steps were heavier, but he was still taking them.

“I said you’ll stop.” Eckert’s voice was barely a whisper, but it was commanding nonetheless. He pulled some hand-held device out of the desk in front of him, pointed it at Eighty-Three, and pushed a button. “I said you’ll stop.”

“What am I?” Eighty-Three repeated. “Why am I the way I am?”

“I said you’ll stop!” the whisper got a bit ragged and irritated, but it was still a whisper. He pressed the button over and over, to no effect. “This isn’t possible,” Eckert was sweating more profusely, which was saying something. “Enough! You will follow commands once again.”

Eighty-Three laughed – a real one, not the static laden attempt at one he’d used for so long. He took another step forward, curled his fingers into fists, and leaned on the desk. His surprisingly dense frame caused the wood to creak as he did. Cocking his goggled face to one side, Eighty-Three studied the old scientist’s pale face. “Why did you do this to me?”

“Because I was paid to,” Eckert hissed. His fear was turning to anger – a response Eighty-Three recognized from earlier. “But then once I started to turn out hundreds of you, and then thousands, I started to enjoy the screams I heard from the cages. I started to love the feeling of power I had when,” he put his hand to his neck, sucking another breath. “When I made more of you. And now, I’m the one with the power. Mr. Alastair has nowhere near the power I have.”

Eighty-Three leaned closer and sucked through his nostrils. He smelled copper – he smelled fear. Eckert was hiding it, but there was plenty of fear on the air. “What am I?” he asked again. “Where did I come from?”

“You?” Eckert asked, curling his thin, pale pink lips into a grotesque smile. “There’s no telling. Some of you were prisoners, some of you were indigents who died and I got the body warm enough to work with. Some of you sold yourself to me, and some of you... well, some of you other people sold. Angry wives, children who had nowhere to go, nothing to eat. I only need a few parts these days. A couple of parts of brain, a spine, some nerves. Past that, it doesn’t matter much.”

Eighty-Three shook his head. “Eighty-Three. Who am I?”

Eckert shrugged again, as best he could. “What do I care? You can’t hurt me, you’re still connected to the network. All I have to do is flip this switch and you’re helpless again.”