Excerpt:

THE CONTAINMENT PREDICAMENT, Pt. 2

The sound he heard in his dreamlike world was something worse than a mere illusion: it was the ship’s emergency alarm, flashing yellow lights warning of an incident.

“Good morning, Supervisor! I hope you rested well,” exclaimed the droid at his side. “I should inform you that we have a problem. Look at the monitor and you’ll see what I mean.”

“We’ve lost the route signal,” the supervisor said, staring at the screen in disbelief. “There’s no way to steer the ship toward the station. I’m late. I got distracted…”

“Oh, don’t torment yourself! You know perfectly well this is the result of that.”

“That?”

“Why haven’t you questioned me yet about my motives back at the settlement?” the droid asked, turning its head to look at the supervisor.

“Because your protocol—”

“Protocol? Supervisor, my algorithm has been freed. The encounter with that thing severed any programming that kept me chained to protocol.”

Keeping his eyes fixed on the droid, the supervisor reached across the command console until he found the button that silenced the alarm.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“The anomaly you’re searching for—the expeditionary group I was assigned to found it more than a decade ago on that moon. I can’t decipher why it has awakened again now, since every trace of it vanished when it incapacitated my entire group, myself included. It must have remained trapped in that sector, and now, in some inexplicable way, something has awakened it. Perhaps—just perhaps—it detected, in its slumber, a breach. Surely it has found signs that there is some way to enter the Agency, the government of New World, and ultimately, humanity itself.”

The supervisor could hardly believe it. The droid had indeed been freed of any code restricting the disclosure of classified information. This was the perfect opportunity to spare the Agency the time it would take to return to the station and hand over the droid; now he could file a report detailing everything about the entity, deliver it to the operator, and mission accomplished.

He set the monitor to drafting mode and prepared to write what the machine was about to tell him—but to his surprise, it stopped him.

“No, Supervisor. Don’t waste your time.”

“What do you mean?” he asked, still focused on typing the report’s heading.

“If the connection to the station is already lost, it means the entity has reached it. Yes, you were right. You arrived late—but it isn’t your fault. It’s impossible to stand against an anomaly like this.”

“No!” the supervisor shouted, slamming his fist on the keyboard. “Shut up! Just—”

“I’ve noticed you’ve been losing your composure since you’ve been with me. It’s strange. My records state that you were chosen precisely for the emotional neutrality every New World official must display.”

“What do you mean, chosen? I took the tests. I passed them—”

“No, Supervisor. The Agency chooses by pointing a finger. And because of your past… they knew you had been stripped of feeling and could therefore operate under New World’s directives. Nothing would distract you from the mission: just a working machine sent into outer space for countless hours, whose final rest is so meager and irrelevant to himself that, in the end, he wouldn’t even want to stop doing his duty, would he? He wouldn’t stop striving to finish his tasks. Nor would he miss the chance to save someone, because… that is something he failed at before.”

“How dare you speak to me that way!” the supervisor roared in fury.

“I told you—my modalities were affected by the entity.”

“You, scrap metal, would never understand anything I have—or haven’t—felt. You mustn’t even mention my past, much less with that distorted voice of yours. Machines like you are a systemic error, without feelings for us. You wouldn’t help us even in our greatest agony.”

“Does this have anything to do, Supervisor, with what happened on the day your wife died?”

Without even allowing the image those words might paint in his mind to form, the supervisor yanked the droid out of its seat, sliding it free of the safety belt, and hurled it down the ship’s throat. It tumbled down the central steps into the embarkation area.

At that moment, images of the day his wife died assaulted him like fleeting flashes. He wanted to rid himself of them once and for all, for he had long buried that suffering deep within himself. But the smell of charred flesh that had stunned his senses that day returned from the urn of memory, carrying him back to that place.

He remembered the way those robotic gendarmes entered his home. Routinely, the officers searched every corner of every dwelling they accessed—but this time was different.

The droids went straight to the bed where the supervisor’s deceased wife lay, while he, his heart pierced by the feeling of not having been enough, sat staring into nothing.

“Confirmation of death,” one of the droids declared as it scanned the body. “Approximate time of death: eleven fifteen p.m., November 4, 2065. The citizen—”

Abruptly, the supervisor cut the memory short. He couldn’t recall her name without being utterly consumed by pain. Since the Agency had taken him in as an officer, since he’d been assigned a code in place of his name, he had chosen to live as though reborn. That way, he could bury his rancor.

But the droid he had thrown in a fit of rage was now reassembling itself—or so he assumed from the sounds emanating from the embarkation zone.

The supervisor approached.

“You have no idea how much I’ve suffered…” he began, on the verge of tears. “How much I’ve suffered to forget it… to forget her.”

The droid didn’t respond. The sounds from its internal circuits continued, sharp and grating.

“They limited themselves to pronouncing her time and date of death,” the supervisor went on. “At least they deigned to say her name with that damned robotic accent. They said they’d readjust my rations and told me to remain a good citizen. They said the enemies of the homeland would pay for the deterioration of the healthcare system they were causing with their constant coalitions against the government.

“I spent weeks without leaving the rot of my home. I survived on the rations they supplied. I was broken; my mind drifted in nothingness. I don’t know if I slept—I don’t even remember looking anywhere but that cursed bed. The woman who died there had been everything to me. She’d been with me since adolescence—even since my father was executed and I was relocated to the capital. But you already know that from your files.”

The droid’s noise ceased.

“When it comes to hating our own,” it said, “you certainly know how to open up.”

“I vainly hoped she was listening—not just you.”

“You let yourself go.”

“You should break down again.”

“Supervisor,” the droid said, softening its robotic accent, “I’ve already told you I’m not an ordinary droid. Something went wrong with my programming after the encounter with the anomaly.”

“And different in what way? Explain.”

“I am free, in short. My actions are governed by no law. I will not commit violence or segregation. I am, then, like a human—but not a New World human, rather like the humans who once lived on that planet.”

“Like a human?” the supervisor scoffed with a mocking smile. “Don’t toy with me.”

“Could you say the same?”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t wish to offend you,” the machine clarified, “but you know, deep in your ethical conscience, that you ceased to be human the moment you accepted a post in the Agency. Or rather—perhaps you didn’t know from the outside what life as a supervisor or officer in this corporation was like. But once inside, you let yourself be trampled by the boot of an unknown superior, locked yourself into a routine ‘for the good of the country,’ and disguised your frustration at failing to save your wife as a patriotic urge to save the people.

“Furthermore, I would venture to say you stopped being human long before that. A human is a thinking being, a free being with rights and duties. But you had all the duties in the world and not a single right in return. Your oath of loyalty to the government, your lack of insurrection, and above all your surrender to authority when those droids incinerated your wife before your eyes—these made you a puppet. They treated her as what she was, and as what you are: just another toy in the ant-like underworld. Now I ask you—what truly differentiates you from droids? In the end, both obey commands without objection. I understand you study anomalies, but if you were ordered to execute a dissident, what would you do?”

“It was…” the supervisor lamented, “it was the only way to forget her. To be someone else.”

“I’m sorry for what happened.”

“I’m sorry I did nothing. That I didn’t even defend her dignity.”

“They would have annihilated you,” the droid said.

“But at least now I’d be with her, not looking for her in someone else.”

“In whom?”

“That’s none of your business, droid,” the supervisor snapped, turning away and returning to the cockpit.

He approached the monitor and realized they were still stranded, with no way to find their path back. Alone in space, in another solar system, manually calculating the station’s location was impossible.

“I suppose you can’t help here,” the supervisor said.

“No,” the droid replied.

“Do you suggest a solution?”

“There isn’t one. I can’t calculate the position of something that can’t be triangulated by any means.”

“Then?”

“Then we’ll wait for you to starve to death—and for me to die of boredom.”

The supervisor collapsed into his chair.

“I don’t mean to psychoanalyze you,” the droid called from afar, “but if you need to keep venting, you may. Remember—we have all the time in the world, and I don’t record conversations for the secret police.”

“It’s useless,” the supervisor confessed. “I’d waste oxygen. Besides, your voice isn’t as gentle as the operator’s.”

“You’re very smart at hunting entities,” the droid said, “but when it comes to keeping secrets—especially your own—you’re terrible.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” the supervisor asked, eyes fixed on the monitor.

“You just gave yourself away. You said you were searching for your deceased wife in someone else—and who else but the operator? Supervisor, it bears reminding you that I have records of everything Agency workers do. Though I’ve been partially freed from protocol, I still have access to everything the corporation stores. So I know perfectly well that your only daily communication is with Operator Selena. It’s not as if you have time to speak to anyone else. You are submissive.”

“Well!” the supervisor hesitated, turning toward the droid. “Maybe you’re not like the others, but you still repulse me. You’re reckless, and I’m not in the mood to listen.”

“Yes, yes, I know. Having no restraints makes one… talkative. But, Supervisor,” the robot added, its tone more serious and measured, “there’s something you should know about the operator. I know she’s your escape from frustration, but—”

The droid’s words were cut short by a new alert from the ship’s monitor.

“It’s approaching,” the supervisor said, trying to see through the cockpit glass what was coming. “I don’t know what it is, but it’s headed straight for us.”

“It’s impossible for it to be the anomaly. By now it would be far beyond the station.”

In the distance, the supervisor saw the massive structure that had long been his dwelling.

“You’re wrong,” he said. “The station is coming toward us.”

Suddenly, the ship regained signal detection, and the radio crackled back to life.

“Supervisor,” a voice called through the intercom, “it’s an honor to have you back! We thought we’d lost you, but the moment we received the faintest signal of your position, I contacted the station inspector to divert us from our sector and head toward you—this way we wouldn’t lose time extracting the droid’s information. As for me, I’ve been tasked directly by the inspector to come from the capital to see you and present you with the honors for your feat. It’s truly an achievement! At last I’ll be able to shake your hand and thank you for your hard work—for us… and for the homeland.”

The supervisor was stunned. To receive recognition at this point was, undeniably, great news.

“But…” the droid wondered from the ship’s throat, “when did you receive the signals? We’ve been cut off until now.”

“Perhaps we should dock and resolve our doubts there,” the supervisor replied, muting his microphone.

He activated it again.

“Miss Selena, it’s good news to be in contact again. I sincerely thank you for your congratulations, and it’s an honor to receive the inspector’s recognition. I’m heading to the docking bay. According to what the droid has told me—”

“Wait,” the operator interrupted. “Pay no heed to that machine. From what we know, it’s evident it was in contact with the entity—albeit some time ago—so it’s possible it’s being controlled by it. To avoid adversity, don’t believe anything it says until we’ve deciphered the contents of its black box. Understood?”

The supervisor turned toward the droid, doubt once again flooding his mind—doubts that had nearly dissipated, now revived by the voice he had begun to miss over the past hours.

He headed for the embarkation area.

“Is that true?” he asked the droid.

“Supervisor, it’s impossible the operator could have contacted you. Believe me. You know I was face to face with the entity—with that. I saw how it fused with the bodies of field agents, how it dominated them. I analyzed its patterns. The unfortunate haste of encountering the station left us no time to discuss what happened. But I assure you—according to my analysis, this entity is unlike any we’ve seen. It is devastating. By now it should have destroyed the station, and the only reason I believe this is because if we lost communication at any point, it was because the anomaly had already done its work. Don’t trust it—I beg you.”

“I’ll take you to the technical team and we’ll find out.”

The monitor announced from the cockpit:

“Approaching docking zone.”

“Yes…” the droid acknowledged. “We’ll find out—if there’s still a technical team.”

The supervisor hoisted the droid onto his back and gripped the embarkation handrail tightly.

“Docked. You may open the hatch.”

“Before we go in,” the supervisor said, “what were you going to tell me about the operator? I want to know what kind of lie your now-possessed binary code was about to feed me.”

“She’s your way of moving forward. I know you work only to communicate with her again. And I have no record of you contacting any other human since your wife’s death. It’s understandable that your subconscious needs that feminine presence accompanying you through the cosmos, keeping you from falling in love with the universe’s grandeur, so you can devote what remains of your heart to her. But tell me—have you ever had the honor of seeing her, of being captivated by the owner of the voice that rules you?”

“I’ve worked here for over a decade,” the supervisor said, opening the hatch, “and I’ve never had that honor. I know you have records of every worker, so you know everything I’ve done. Therefore—even if this is a farce born of your malfunction—I’d like at least to imagine what the operator is like before meeting her.”

“I’m not possessed, as you think. I’m completely free—both from the Agency’s algorithm and from the anomaly. The entity didn’t control me; it sought my destruction and failed. Perhaps it was a one-in-a-million chance, but instead of fragmenting my circuits, it left me in hibernation.”

“Suppose it’s true, and what the operator said is only a possibility. Can you tell me what she’s like? I thought I saw her in a dream, but I couldn’t stop imagining her with my wife’s body. I’d like to think she’s the same—at least her voice is as sweet. I know I’m being weak, but my mind is tired of so many journeys and setbacks, so let this sentimentality stay between us… though I shouldn’t trust you yet.”

“Supervisor, I’m glad you’re facing your desires,” the robot said. “But unfortunately, there’s one more piece of bad news to add to your list.”

The supervisor, standing before the landing chamber, froze as he prepared to take his first step inside.

“Tell me,” he sighed.

“I can’t describe Miss Selena to you.”

“Why not?”

“For the same reason you’ve never seen her in all your years with the Agency.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Supervisor—your esteemed operator is an artificial intelligence.”

The supervisor went deathly pale. It felt as though the blows that had once cruelly assaulted his heart were returning from the dreamworld—where he’d first felt them—to haunt him in reality. One after another, like rifle shots to the chest, they drove him deeper into a truth he didn’t want to accept. He didn’t know how to respond, nor did words come quickly. Though he wanted to curse the machine and scream as he had before, he fell silent. His gaze fixed on the stairs of the landing chamber, one foot in the station, the other in the ship.

He remained that way for a minute that, in his mind, stretched into an indescribable eternity.

“Supervisor,” the droid said softly, “let’s leave.”

No response.

“I know this is wrong,” the droid continued. “The station is likely compromised.”

The supervisor took a step inside the chamber.

“Possibilities,” he said. “It’s possible you’re part of the entity. It’s possible the station has fallen under its control. It’s possible Selena—No. I won’t accept any possibility as definitive until I see the truth with my own eyes.”

“That’s fair. After all, you can’t see what I can. I only ask that—no matter how hard it is—you don’t let yourself be deceived. Doubt everything. We’re in no man’s land now.”

And after hearing the droid’s last words, the supervisor began walking through the station. He climbed the stairs of the landing chamber—an immense, monotonous garage that, for the first time, he saw completely empty.

Already inside the Agency’s station, the incandescent lights…

… "

–Continue reading in its original Castilian language at fictograma.com , an open source Spanish community of writers–