The Other Side
Doctor Nemitz left the patient's room, the door clicking shut behind him. A lady nurse was waiting for him, her hands on her hips, her expression expectant. "What do you think, Doctor? Is he going to be all right?"
Nemitz shook his head. "I cannot really tell you for certain. This man's case is unusual, very unusual." He straightened the black bowtie around his neck. "The man seems to believe everything that he is saying is the absolute truth. That this world is a lie."
"Perhaps it is schizophrenia," the nurse suggested, "though of course I am not qualified to diagnose such a case."
Nemitz smiled thinly, his short moustache twitching with the movement. "No, I suppose not. But perhaps you could help me in my diagnosis, since you have spent some time already with the patient." He produced a small notepad and pen from within the folds of his black jacket. "Could you describe for me your observations of the patient?"
The nurse appeared to think hard for a moment. "Well, there's really not much to tell," she said with a shrug. "We received a call from the Peace Department about a civil disturbance. A team went and collected our patient without much resistance; I think it only took one injection to calm him down. But even after that, he was still very insistent about these nonsense ideas of his, as you have already observed for yourself." The nurse bit her lip anxiously. "When the injection wears off, he starts screaming and fighting the restraints in a most horrible fashion. Were the doors not soundproof, his cries would echo throughout the ward."
"A very strange case indeed," Nemitz said again, scribbling notes on his pad. "Do you happen to know his name?"
The nurse sighed. "He insists that he is Dale Walters, though we have no record of a man by that name in the birth index."
"No birth ID? The case just gets stranger."
"We've taken to calling him Levi," the nurse said, shrugging. "It was stitched on the jacket he was wearing prior to his hospitalization."
Nemitz wrote the detail in his notepad. "Thank you very much, nurse..."
"Susanne."
"Nurse Susanne." Nemitz shook her hand warmly. "Maybe I can figure out a way to help Mr. Levi to return to reality."
"Please do," Susanne said. "He’s clearly delusional, the poor man."
The patient, however, was thinking otherwise. He was Dale Walters, not Levi. He was an average man, a sane average man. He was only here because of a mistake! In spite of his insistence, no one here believed him. After the strange black-clad man who called himself a doctor left the room, Dale had grown quiet, resting himself after trying to convince the doctor that there was nothing wrong with him. The man had seemed to listen to him understandingly, nodding while writing on a little notepad. But Dale could tell by the look on the doctor's face that is story didn't persuade him. Dale had a talent for reading faces. His guess turned out to be correct, because the doctor had left after Dale had finished telling his story, leaving him strapped to the strange, curved bed, with all but his head immobilized. With only a thin hospital gown and a papery bed sheet to warm him, Dale shivered and stared upward at the grey ceiling, tears threatening to trickle from his eyes. As he lay there, helpless and hopeless, he reflected on the events that had led up to his terrible fate. They didn't make much sense, at least some of them didn't. He doubted if anything would ever make sense again.
It had started as a normal enough day for Dale Walters. During daylight hours, he slept, watched television, did a few house chores, and took a shower. But when seven p.m. rolled around, he got ready for work and drove over to the nuclear power plant, where he worked as the night shift janitor. For some reason, Dale loved his job. It paid only slightly above minimum wage, and the hours were long and lonely, but he took a certain pride in knowing that he was responsible for keeping the facility clean and pleasing to the eye. There were, of course, people who didn't see the glamour of Dale's job. Rather, they poked fun at him, or gave him less-than-friendly stares. More than once he had even come across an engineer that was working overtime on some project. The engineers never said anything to him, but Dale knew by their condescending smiles that they looked down on him. Was it because of his round belly, which he had tried so hard to reduce, but failed? Was it because of his balding scalp, which he treated every day with hair tonic, with no improvement? Perhaps it was simply because the engineers were usually younger than him, in their twenties or early thirties. Dale was forty-five, working a low-income, minimum-requirements job with little or no motivation to reach for higher goals. Though this fact did not really bother him, the looks he received from the engineers did. Sometimes he had a hard time ignoring the stares, imagining that a glance of pity was really one of contempt. But he kept on working, because he loved his job.
On this particular day...technically night because the sun had set...Dale was glad to find that all the engineers had gone home. No one stared imaginary daggers at him while he swept the long linoleum floors. No one sighed impatiently as he waxed the hallways and research rooms. No one even walked past him to contribute a judgmental snort at his appearance, or mutter a suggestion that he should wear a better belt. This solitude made Dale feel so free that he started humming as he pushed the floor polisher up and down the long corridors. He was so caught up in the moment, and was humming so loud, that he did not hear or see the single engineer who had come from around the corner. Neither did the engineer notice Dale, and the younger man tripped over the polishing machine, dropping a sheaf of papers in surprise.
Dale gasped, startled.
The engineer stood up straight, then scowled.
The polishing machine hummed, and sucked up a few of the fallen papers as if to spite the man who had interrupted its work.
The engineer cursed, grabbed up the other papers, and poked his index finger into Dale's sternum.
"You, sir, need to watch where you are going!" He shuffled thought he papers in his other hand. "Luckily for you, that machine of yours only ate up a couple of the reference pages." He lifted his finger, his voice lowering to a threatening tone. "But understand this: if you slip up again, I could have you fired!"
It was then that Dale noticed the blue badge pinned to the engineer's breast pocket. It had the engineer's name and picture, though in the picture he was smiling. He wasn't smiling now. Dale didn't know what the color meant, except that it let the engineer get into the more restricted rooms where Dale was not allowed to go. That also meant that he probably had the power to get Dale fired, with or without a good reason. Dale swallowed nervously. The machine hummed patiently beside him.
"I'm really sorry, sir," Dale mumbled, looking down. "I'll be more careful next time. I just thought that everyone had gone home and I wasn't expecting—"
"You'd better be more careful," the engineer growled. He clutched the remaining papers against his chest with one arm, using the other to emphasize his threats. "One more slip-up, Walters, and you can say goodbye to your job. There are plenty of other bums out there who can clean floors and toilets, and would be more than happy to have your job."
"I'll be more careful, sir," Dale repeated meekly.
"Good. Make sure you do." With a final glare in Dale's direction, the engineer walked past him and down the hall, footsteps echoing. Dale looked down and sighed. The engineer had left a trail of dark, oily footsteps across the white floor.
It was eleven o'clock by the time Dale had cleaned up the oily trail that the engineer had left. He found himself back in the hall where the encounter had taken place.
"Here again," Dale said to no one in particular, taking comfort in the rhythmic hum of the polishing machine. He started to consider the encounter with the engineer, and the strangeness of it. Dale had checked the employee sign in sheets while he had signed himself in; everyone had clocked out. Maybe the engineer had forgotten something and had gone back to fix it. That would explain the oily residue on his shoes. Dale shrugged off the thought, returning his attention to the floor. He was no Sherlock Holmes. The situation didn't strike him as suspicious, or even odd. That was probably why he didn't even look up when one of the security cameras in the ceiling whined as it swiveled around, the lens clicking as it focused on him.
George Nastrom, the engineer, was sitting in the security room, eyes narrow as he looked over the feed sent from the security cameras. One screen in particular interested him: the screen that showed Dale Walters, cheerfully polishing the hallway between Conference Room B and C. Nastrom's eyes narrowed further as he watched, recalling the incident in the hallway that had cost him two sheets of very important data. He had told Dale that only the reference pages had gotten destroyed, because he didn't want the janitor to think the infraction was serious.
As Nastrom observed Dale, he was pleased to find that the janitor didn’t seem worried at all. It was time to carry out the plan.
After the incident with Dale and his polishing machine, Nastrom had walked off with his sheaf of papers, growling curses. In his mind, he was plotting, trying to figure out a way to make Dale pay for his ignorance. And when Nastrom discovered that the papers he had lost had contained the most important data in the set, his anger doubled, and it was no longer fitting to make Dale pay simply with his livelihood. Nastrom would make sure Dale paid with his life.
His plan was elaborate in mechanical terms, but technically it was rather simple. He would lure Dale Walters to a rather unfortunate death. He had walked to the western exit, knowing that his shoes were tracking oil from a spill he had walked through earlier in the day. He pulled them off and put them in a recycling bin, now walking in his socks. He surveyed the tracks he had left with a grim smile. No doubt the ignorant Walters would think that the angry engineer had gone home. Nastrom then walked to the security room, all but silent because of his socks. He swiped his card in the slot, pleased to find that his clearance allowed him into the room. He had been doubly pleased to find that there were no guards on duty; apparently the plant was at a low enough threat level that the security room could afford to be unmanned for a few hours. Nastrom surveyed the console before him, getting familiar with the camera and screen controls. He scanned the board for a particular set of buttons, smiling to himself when he found them: the remote door controls.
Dale was blissfully unaware of the fact he was being monitored; he was cheerfully whistling an old Beatles tune as he walked towards the nearest supply closet, pushing the polishing machine ahead of him. A door to his right hissed open, and he paused, surprised. He looked at the placard on the wall beside the door, which read RESEARCH. The keypad and card slot on the side of the wall told him that it was a restricted area, but the door seemed to have opened of its own volition...and stayed open. Dale furrowed his brow. "What the...?" Driven by curiosity, he abandoned the floor polisher by the side of the hall and went over to the open doorway to investigate. He cautiously approached, first running his hands along the frame. Nothing felt sticky or rough, and there was no mechanical whine to indicate that the door was jammed. Perhaps there was someone still here. Dale peeked into the room, opening his mouth so call out, but no words came. The sight that met his eyes was astounding. Normally the research rooms were filled with computer banks and rows of filing cabinets. Sometime ago, however, the contents of this room had been moved elsewhere to make room for a massive device that took up much of the floor space in the center of the room. What is was meant for, Dale couldn't even begin to guess. But from the tools and oil cans that lay scattered across the floor, he knew that the engineers were doing much more than working on nuclear reactors during their overtime.
Nastrom watched Dale carefully, willing the unwitting janitor to enter the room. He knew the room had been left a mess from today’s testing; he knew that Dale would not be able to leave a mess on the floor. A moment later, he saw Dale step uncertainly into the room and pick up some of the tools. Nastrom smiled darkly. "Excellent." He pulled a bulky remote from the workbag he had with him and watched the screen intently.
Dale was moving closer and closer to the device in the center of the room, cleaning as he went. He still carried a few of the tools in his hand, a variety of wrenches and other tools that were rich in metals. If Dale had known what the monstrous device was, what it was meant for, he might have maintained his distance. But the simple-minded janitor was not even suspicious of the strange machine, even as it seemed to turn on by itself.
Nastrom's wicked grin widened. His finger lingered over the button on the remote that would send Dale to oblivion. But he waited, feeling a savage pleasure at watching his unsuspecting victim working cheerfully moments before death. "Oh, if you only knew what was in store for you..." he muttered through clenched teeth. He glanced at the machine that was now whirring and flashing only a few feet away from where Dale was standing, regarding a grease stain with a contemplative look on his face. Nastrom snorted. Leave it to the stupid janitor to find a grease stain more interesting than a dangerous machine. Nastrom's machine. The engineer’s fierce grin became a scowl. If only Dale knew how important this device was! That its creation was sanctioned by secret government factions! That only a nuclear reactor was strong enough to power it! That was the reason it had been built here, at the nuclear power plant. Few knew it even existed; fewer even knew what the machine really did. Supposedly it would enable a person to travel to an alternate reality, but so far there was one major flaw: the test subjects that had been sent through the machine never came back. They were supposed to be automatically pulled out by the machine after twenty-four hours, but two bricks, five apples, and an unfortunate guinea pig had gone through the portal and were never seen again. Nastrom's colleagues had theorized that perhaps the sheer power of the device had vaporized the subjects rather than transported them. That was the best explanation; the machine did radiate large amounts of electromagnetic energy, so much that the portal pulled in metallic objects if it was left open. And now Dale was standing right in front of the door.
Nastrom pressed the button on the remote, watching the screen with a twisted smile. The portal of the device slid open, sparks spraying outward and startling Dale, who leaped to the side. Fortunately he had cleaned up the oil spills, so nothing caught fire, but there was something else the frightened janitor had to worry about. He had tucked a number of the tools in his utility belt, intending to clean them off and set them in an appropriate place later on. He had no way of knowing that the electromagnetic force of the activated device behind him would forcefully pull anything metallic toward it...at least not until he felt the tools around his waist being roughly drawn toward the open portal on the side of the device. And they were pulling him along with them.
Terrified, Dale screamed
In the security room, Nastrom laughed wickedly, watching as the janitor disappeared into the portal, undoubtedly vaporized into trillions of tiny particles.
But Dale Walters was not dead. For moment, everything was dark and quiet. He felt nothing, heard nothing. It was like being asleep. And when he came to, he felt refreshed, as if he had merely taken a nap. He opened his eyes, wondering if he had just nodded off while cleaning and had only dreamed the whole terrible episode. But what he saw only made him wonder if he was still asleep.
He was lying face down on a grassy turf, his back warmed by the sun. He was aware of a strange whirring noise—not loud, but powerful. The sound seemed to make the ground thrum with vibrations...unless it was the ground itself that was vibrating. The thought made Dale push himself up, as if to get as far away from the ground as possible, but what he saw made him feel no better. He found himself standing near the edge of some cliff. The grassy turf he was standing on reached away in front of him for several feet, then simply ended, giving way to a steep drop. Dale stood paralyzed, staring past the cliff at the ground hundreds of feet below. It may have been his imagination, but the ground seemed to be moving.
"Hey, my fellow," a voice said from behind him, and he spun, alarmed, to see a man his height, dressed in what Dale imagined was gentlemanly attire—a black waistcoat and pants, with a black bowtie knotted neatly on the collar of his white shirt. The man adjusted his monocle, as if trying to see Dale better, then extended his hand in a friendly gesture. "I don't believe I've seen you around here," he said with a smile. "I am James Gordon, Associate Greeter, at your service."
After a moment of hesitation, Dale shook the man's hand. "Dale Walters," he said, throwing a nervous look at the cliff behind him.
James chuckled. "You act like you've never seen the Fringe before, Mr. Walters. It's nothing to worry about, as long as you don't go jumping off it."
Dale swallowed. "I don't think I know where I am. The ground...why is it vibrating? That whirring sound...what is it?" He looked at James. "Where am I?"
"Strange," the man replied, tut-tutting. "I should figure you would remember all that from your childhood education. All the children are taught about things like that." He looked Dale over, as if analyzing him. "Well, I suppose you are only human. They tend to forget things over time. We'll have to start from the beginning then, won't we?" He adjusted the bowtie around his neck, then clasped an arm around Dale's shoulder. He walked over to the edge of the cliff, taking Dale with him. They stopped about three feet from the edge. James gestured downward with his head. "What do you see?"
Dale fought to control his fear. He had never liked heights. But he managed to look down, and he was so surprised that his fear was momentarily forgotten.
"I see a forest."
"Not just a forest," James said. "The forest. The great North American Forest."
Dale looked down in wonderment. There were towering trees as far as the eyes could see. Most of them were coniferous, and he recognized some of them from the science books he had read in elementary school. There were redwoods and sequoias and flagpoles and yellow pines. Some tree trunks were wider than an average house, their branches spreading until each treetop joined to make an impressive canopy. And he was seeing this from the ground? He looked down at his feet, stamping lightly on the grass. "What are we standing on?"
James clapped his shoulder. "That is the next lesson, Mr. Walters." he stooped and pulled up the grass. To Dale's amazement, the turf came up like a mat, grass, soil, and all. Underneath, there was a sheet of metal, which glinted in the sunlight. James released the grass, and it fell back into place.
"You see, Mr. Walters, we're not really standing on the ground. The ground is down there." he gestured toward the cliff with his thumb. "What we are standing on is really a big machine, which is responsible for keeping us aloft so that we can float over the trees, as you have already seen for yourself."
Dale struggled to understand. "How is that possible?"
James sighed. "Well, to answer that question you would need to understand chemistry and thermodynamics and all those sort of things. But if you can't remember even the simple things like where you live, then I don't believe you would be able to understand the fuel conversion process for methane and carbon dioxide."
Dale grunted. "I think you're right."
"Well then, let me show you around town. Maybe seeing other people will help you remember better."
He led Dale away from the cliff. Now that Dale was facing the other direction, he could see that there was a brick walkway that wound through what appeared to be a residential area. On either side of the walkway there were brick houses with shiny, tiled roofs. Further along the path there were people walking, enjoying the sunny day. In the distance, tall spires and buildings glinted in the sunshine. Dale couldn't believe it. He had never seen or imagined anything like it, and he felt quite certain that his brain would explode if he saw any more. He closed his eyes. "What is all this?"
"This," James said, waving his hand to encompass everything before them, "Is a city. Your city."
Dale opened his eyes, just a sliver. "What do you mean?"
"Every person who lives in a city owns the city. It is their home, their privilege, and their responsibility. Because of this, everyone strives to keep it clean and functional. The same goes for the world."
Dale opened his eyes fully to stare quizzically at his chaperone. "The world?"
James nodded. "Look at the sky. Do you see any haze, any dust, or pollution?"
Dale looked up, squinting because the sun was shining so brightly. A few feathery clouds stretched overhead like icy wisps, and a songbird chirped as it flew by.
"No."
James nodded. "Mm-hm. And when we pass over the oceans, you'll be able to see how clean they have been kept as well. You might remember the giant reefs and coral mounds from your elementary textbooks, when you see them."
"I don't know if I will," Dale said uncertainly. "All of this seems too amazing to me. How do I know I'm not dreaming?"
James stared at him, mouth agape. "How can you say that? This is the world as it has always been, since the beginning of time! Perfection, Mr. Walters, as close as man can come to achieve it. A clean world. Healthy plant and animal life. Stable ice caps. Steady climates. How can it seem too amazing, if it is all you have ever known?"
"I haven't," Dale said. "And if I have, I don't remember."
James tut-tutted again, shaking his head. "Possibly a severe case of amnesia. Shall I show you to the hospital?"
"Er...no." Dale took another look around, as if weighing his options. "Maybe you should just keep showing me the city. I'm bound to remember something sooner or later."
James nodded. "Very well." he released Dale's shoulder and started walking along the brick path, beckoning for Dale to walk behind him. "Come with me."
James strolled leisurely along the path, giving Dale plenty of time to look at the houses. They were made of bricks and mortar, and had doors and windows. Green, manicured lawns sprawled welcomingly in front and white picket fences marked off the boundaries of the respective yards of each house. Nothing out of the ordinary, save for the shiny tiles on the rooftops.
"James, er, Mr. Gordon," Dale said. James stopped walking.
"Yes, Mr. Walters?"
"What are those things on the roofs? I don't remember seeing anything like them before."
"My, my," James said shaking his head, "It's as if you don't remember a thing from your schooling. We may have to get you checked out after all."
"Just humor me," Dale said.
"All right." James indicated the tiles with a circular gesture. "Each tile is a miniature solar panel, which converts sunlight to clean, usable energy that can be used by each household."
"I know what solar panels are," Dale said.
"Hum! Well, at least you remember something," James replied. He started walking again, and Dale trailed after him.
All this time, people were walking by, or standing in their yards, talking. When James and Dale passed by, heads would turn, conversations would stop, and people stared. Bewildered by this whole experience, Dale stared back.
The people seemed average. There appeared to be a blend of ethnicities, for there was a wide variety of skin color and facial shapes. This was normal enough for Dale, who had lived his whole life in the cultural melting pot of America. But the odd thing about these people was their clothes. The closest thing that Dale could relate them to was something out of those old English portraits that he had once seen in a museum. The women wore mostly dresses of ornate design and color, though a few were clad in long tunics and pants that seemed to be made of a silken material. The men wore tunics and pants as well, though some were decorated with silver clasps and buttons. And every now and then, Dale would notice men dressed identically as James, wearing the same black and white suit, monocle, and bowtie as he.
"Who are those men?" Dale asked, after watching one of them turn on heel and walk away. "And where are the children?"
James stopped again, his voice patient yet condescending. "The children are all receiving their schooling. It is a weekday, you know."
Dale nodded slowly. "Wednesday, I think."
"Yes. As for those men, well..." James smiled. "They're Associate Greeters, like me. But we're not really men."
Dale stared at him open-mouthed, lost for words.
James chuckled. "In fact, we're not biological beings at all. But it isn't any secret. Everyone knows about Android Helping Units, or AHUs." He glanced at Dale's astonished expression. "Well, everyone but you, it seems."
Dale finally found his voice. "So...you're not really alive?"
James shook his head. "Not technically, no. Not in the sense you are. But we do a pretty good job of seeming like it, don't we?" He took off his monocle and polished it against his jacket sleeve. "In fact, a great deal of the city population is composed of AHUs."
Dale looked around, as if trying to imagine the possibility. He shook his head. "I don't understand. And I don't remember. None of this is making sense!"
James pursed his lips. "Well, then let us not focus on the science. Are you a sports fan, Mr. Walters?"
Dale's ears pricked up at the word. "Sports?"
"Yes, you know...teams, aggression, physical contact, spectators?"
Dale nodded. "I've always been a big football fan, but I think I'll watch just about any sport."
James gave him a strange look. "Well, I've never heard of 'football', but we have plenty of other sports that you can watch."
"What are we waiting for, then?" Dale said. "Let's go."
"Wait a moment," James said, catching Dale by the sleeve. "We've got to get a ride there. The nearest stadium is on the other side of the city."
Dale humphed, but he waited obediently as James pulled something out of his jacket pocket. It looked very much like a cell phone. He dialed a number, but there was no dial tone. Instead, James held the device over his head, and it started flashing with blue light like some kind of beacon. Within moments, something appeared in the sky overhead. At first it was a dark speck, but it grew larger as it drew nearer. Dale watched speechlessly as a sleek, silver vehicle dropped from above and landed softly alongside the path. It had no wings, no wheels, and the chassis appeared to be one solid piece, broken only by four round windows and a large plate of glass in the front that made up the windshield.
"Taxi?" Dale said.
James looked pleased. "Why, yes! Good. You're starting to remember."
Not really, Dale thought to himself, but he didn't say anything else. He let James lead him to the side of the strange flying taxi and watched as one side of the chassis opened, swinging outward like a normal car door. He hesitated, not really sure if he should get in, but a nod from James assured him, only slightly, and he stooped and slid onto the seat. James slid in after him, and the door swung back into place. There was a soft hiss as an air seal formed, pressurizing the interior. There was a seat in front of theirs, in which the driver sat, waiting patiently. James tapped him on the shoulder. "The stadium, please."
The driver nodded. "Yes, sir." He slid his hands onto a control panel, and the vehicle rose into the sky.
Dale pressed his face against the window beside him, looking outside in wonder. The brick path and people and houses shrunk as the vehicle rose higher and higher, and before long ice particles were forming on the outside of the glass. Dale looked down again, and was shocked at what he saw. The city, buildings and houses and paths included, was like an island that floated above the earth. He could clearly see the city moving, and noticed a number of giant propellers spinning on what passed for the city's "end". He watched it for a while, mesmerized. But soon he became aware of something else hovering below. He looked toward the east, and was amazed yet again. There was another floating city, almost identical to the first!
"How many cities are there?" Dale murmured, mostly to himself.
"One hundred forty-four," James replied. "All of them self-sustained, moving over the planet in harmony."
Dale shook his head in disbelief. "What about the people living on the ground?"
"There are no people on the ground!" James replied, laughing. "Don't be ridiculous. No one has lived on the ground since the time of Babel. The world isn't meant to have humans crawling all over it. Just think of the devastation they would cause if they tried to put their cities on the ground! The destruction to the Earth's beautiful forests, oceans, mountains!" He shuddered, as if it terrified him to think about. "That would destroy the symbiosis we have established on the Earth. Our cities fly because we use solar energy to power the reactions that turn methane and oxygen into fuel. The fuel powers the city-lifters by combustion; the combustion produces carbon dioxide and water as a byproduct. We filter the water to drink, and the carbon dioxide is released to the atmosphere. But a great part of our world is covered by trees and plants. We have entire continents that are nothing but trees, like the great North American Forest, which you saw earlier. The plants use the carbon dioxide to live and produce oxygen as a byproduct. And the cycle continues."
Dale listened, but said nothing in reply. It all seemed too fantastic to believe, but here he was, sitting in a flying vehicle that was faster and more efficient than any plane or car he had ever been in. He was looking down on a world that was untouched by pollution and human abuse, sitting next to a man who defied all boundaries of modern technology.
The vehicle finally landed, setting down lightly on a raised platform.
"We have arrived, sir," the driver said.
"Thank you." James patted the man gratefully on the back. "Nice flying."
"Thank you, sir. Until next time."
James slipped out of the taxi, Dale stumbling out after him. The door swung shut, and with a whir the taxi rose up into the sky and disappeared.
James and Dale descended a stairwell, and Dale suddenly realized he could hear a dull roar that was familiar, but he couldn’t quite place. Coming out of the stairwell, he found himself on a broad catwalk overlooking a huge elliptical field. Stands of spectators wrapped around the entirety of the field, and Dale estimated that there were at least a thousand people gathered to watch whatever sport was played here. What sport it was, he could not begin to guess. The field was mostly reddish dirt, with a narrow, oval track chalked out in the center. James came alongside him.
“There are two games that are played on this field, “ he explained. “One at a time, of course. First they’ll start out with a good ol’ grizzly-back race. Then they’ll have a round of catby.”
Dale paled. “I don’t think I heard you correctly. Did you say grizzly-back race? As in grizzly bear?”
“You’ll see soon enough,” James replied. “Let’s find a place to sit.”
They made their way to the nearest row of benches, most of which was already taken up by eager spectators of varying ages. Dale finally saw some children, who were dressed in fine tunics as well.
“Shouldn’t those children be in school?” Dale asked. James shrugged. “Field trip, for all I know. These games can be very educational.”
Dale gave the other man a dubious look, but he settled back into his seat and watched the field. Before long, gates in the ground slid open, and platforms came up from somewhere that Dale could not see. On the platforms were men dressed in costumes even stranger than what they normally wore. They wore armor-like suits of varying color, matching helmets obscuring their faces from view. In their hands they held long rods, the ends of which crackled with blue energy.
“Cattle prods?” Dale said incredulously.
“Grizzly prods,” James corrected him. “Big difference as far as these races are concerned. A cattle prod wouldn’t work right on a grizzly.”
Dale wanted to ask him to elaborate, but his voice was drowned out by the familiar roar—the collective voices of the spectators cheering. Dale looked back at the field, watching with morbid fascination as the gates in the ground opened again, the platforms bearing chained grizzly bears. The beasts growled and fought against their restraints.
The armored men produced colored harnesses and saddles that matched their own armor, and slipped these onto the bears with remarkable speed. The bears tried to resist, but to no avail. Soon each bear had been saddled and harnessed, and their respective riders leapt up into the saddles.
Dale watched in disbelief.
A horn sounded from nowhere, and the chains on the bears fell free, probably deactivated by remote. The riders jabbed their prods into the soft rears of their bears, and the beasts ran forward along the track, startled. One bear, however, was more angry than afraid; it reared up, throwing its rider off its back. The man struggled to get his legs up beneath him, but he had no time. The angry bear was upon him within moments, swatting him with its huge paws. The man crumpled, his bones undoubtedly crushed by the blow. The bear lumbered over to its former rider, sniffed at him as if in contemplation, then walked toward the edge of the field. It was collected by men equipped with tranquilizing guns.
Dale shook his head, pointing. “Did you see that? That man just got mauled by a bear!”
“It’s all part of the game,” James assured him. “It’s not over yet.”
And indeed it wasn’t. There were still four other riders that were competing for first place, their bears galloping at full speed. The bear in the lead was a huge, handsome specimen of a dark brown color, and there seemed to be no doubt that it would win. But, as the bear and its rider closed in on the finish line, the bear in second place made a mad dash and came alongside the lead bear. There was a flash of claws, and the lead bear stumbled, blood oozing from a gash in its hind leg. The rider fell, tumbling into the dusty track. He sat in a daze, oblivious as his mount got to its feet and faced the second-place bear. The rider of the second bear drew his prod. The electric discharge could be faintly heard over the cheers of excitement from the crowd. The lead bear roared, lunging at the second bear’s throat. The rider struck at the attacking bear, but he missed, and the bear ended up lunging for him instead. The man was plucked from his saddle as easily as a flower is plucked from its stem; the lead bear crushed the rider’s ribs in its powerful jaws, while the other bear prepared to pounce on the lead bear’s dazed rider. Meanwhile, the other bear and its rider charged past the carnage, crossing the finish line. The crowd erupted, shouting and cheering. Dale clutched his stomach, feeling ill.
“I thought you said you liked sports,” James said, looking at Dale with concern.
“This doesn’t look like a sport to me,” Dale murmured.
James snorted. “Well, you might not like catby, then. It’s pretty much the same as what you just saw…except there’s a ball and field goals involved.”
Dale perked up a little. “That sounds like football.”
“Does football have lions and tigers loose on the field while the contestants play?”
Dale grew pale again and shook his head weakly. “No.”
James sighed. “Then I suppose you wouldn’t like catby any better than grizzly-back racing.” He rose from his seat. “We’d better get going, then.”
James had summoned the taxi again, and soon he and Dale were soaring high above the city. Dale’s face was still pale, and he was quiet as he looked out of the window.
“I know you think that watching those people getting hurt was a terrible thing,” James said. “Most people do, until they learn that the riders are all AHUs. There is no harm done to the riders in the end, because they can all be repaired.”
“I suppose that’s a good thing,” Dale murmured. He still could not shake the image of the rider getting crushed in the grizzly’s jaws, his piercing scream abruptly cut off.
“I think you’ll find the Park is more comfortable than the stadium,” James went on. “No grizzlies, no violence, no harm whatsoever.”
“We’ll see about that,” Dale muttered.
The taxi landed again, and this time Dale stepped out to find himself standing on a carpet of thick, green moss. He looked about himself with renewed curiosity, wondering at the trees and tall plants that rose up around them in a circular formation. There was a grassy path leading away between the trees, and Dale was compelled to follow it, but not before he took off his shoes. James looked at him with an amused smile, but he ignored it. The grass was cool and soft beneath his feet, and he walked along with restored vigor, the past horrors forgotten. The Park really was a nice place, more like a garden because of all the greenery and exotic plants that seemed to grow in abundance there. Everywhere Dale looked, there was some colorful flower blooming. Some he had seen before, some he could never have imagined. Their aromas filled the air with pleasant smells, and Dale started to feel lightheaded from all the different scents. But, when he came into a clearing, he took a deep breath and grimaced. There was a sickly sweet odor in the air. If James smelled it, he said nothing, but Dale looked around to see where it was coming from. And there, in the center of the clearing, were a group of boys. They couldn’t have been older than ten. Each one had a familiar white roll in his mouth, wisps of smoke curling up from the ends. Dale frowned. “What are those boys doing? I thought they were supposed to be in school!”
James glanced at his watch. “School is usually over by now,” he said calmly. “And they’re only consuming their daily PCs.”
“PCs?”
“Peace cigarettes. Clinically proven to maintain human emotions and reduce stress levels. Some claim the PCs even increase academic performance. Perhaps you would like to try one? It might make your memories return.”
But Dale wasn’t listening anymore. He stomped over to the boys, who slowly looked up at him, eyes glazed over, but confused. Dale snatched the cigarettes from their mouths and threw the burning butts to the ground, stamping them out with his foot. The boys only looked on in silence. One finally spoke up, his voice slow and slurred. “Whaddid you do tha fer, missah?”
Dale was breathing hard, his anger building. He spun around and faced the boys. “What did I do that for? I did it because all this,” he waved his hands wildly around, as if to encompass the world, “is wrong! Everything seems perfect. The people seem well to do and happy. The tech even seems more advanced than anything I’ve ever seen. But all this is a lie! It’s too good to be true! I knew that when I saw how people spent their free time, watching men get slaughtered by bears for sport! And now the kids are abandoning their education, and smoking cigarettes just so that they’ll be submissive!” he growled the last word, and turned round to face James.
“Are you done?” the other man asked patiently.
“Not really,” Dale said, grimacing. “I’ll never be done until I can get back to my own world, my own time, my own reality. It may have been a world filled with pollution and corrupt people. We may not have flying cars and cities. People may have been mean and treated me like dirt. But at least I knew some people there who did not pretend to be what they are not.”
“And the people here do?” James asked.
“Yes,” Dale snarled. “Isn’t it obvious to you, an android? Human beings are not perfect. Yet the ones here pretend to be. Doesn’t that bother you?”
James shook his head, smiling. “Not really. Haven’t you figured it out, yet, Mr. Walters? That is what we APUs are for. We keep the human race going, we keep them living and breeding and believing that they are perfect. We prescribe the drugs that keep the more violent human tendencies subdued.” He walked over to the small circle of boys, still sitting on the ground. He patted one boy on the head.
“See how cooperative they are? How calm and submissive they can be? Submission means harmony, Mr. Walters. And harmony means that the human race and this earth will remain stable for eons to come.”
Dale’s face took on a terrifying expression. “I can’t let you do that. Humans are meant to be free!”
James took on a condescending tone. “And what makes you think you can change that, Mr. Walters? You are just one man.” He stepped back, and a dozen men dressed in identical white suits appeared from behind the trees.
Dale hesitated, his expression faltering.
James greeted the men with a thin smile, gesturing toward Dale with a dip of the head. “Take him.”
The men moved forward. Dale tried to run, but he tripped over one of the sitting boys. The men in white suits seized him by the shoulders and bore him up roughly. He struggled to free himself from their grasp, but their grips were like iron. “AHUs,” he growled, glaring in James’ direction. The other man smiled and dipped his head in acknowledgement. “You’re remembering. Or learning. Either way, Mr. Walters; I’m afraid that this is where I must bid you adieu. I have some PCs that need to be distributed.” James began walking away.
Dale struggled against his captors, but one produced a syringe and jammed it into his shoulder, injecting him with a sedative. Dale’s struggling grew weaker, then he fell limp.
Epilogue
Doctor Nemitz returned to the room where the strange patient was being kept, carrying a file full of his typed notes. He had formed some rather interesting hypotheses about Mr. Levi, a.k.a. Mr. Walters. Based on the MRIs and other battery of examinations he had been put through, Nemitz felt strongly that the man was not suffering from some mental disorder. He seemed, as impossible as it sounded, to be telling the truth. This troubled Nemitz, of course. No one had told the truth since the time of that one man named Yeshua. Was it possible that this patient, whoever he was, had somehow discovered the truth behind this world? That human perfection was a mere façade? Or was he telling the truth when he said he was not from this world? Either answer had serious implications. As an AHU himself, Nemitz knew: if any human discovered the true purposes of the Android Helping Units, it was very possible that the world could descend into chaos. It would only take one Man. That much had been proven before. Luckily, they had this man contained…for now. Nemitz walked over to the door, nodding to Susanne, who was standing just outside. He opened the door, then froze. After a moment, he swore, bringing the nurse running in after him.
“What’s wrong?” she cried.
“He’s gone!” Nemitz said, dropping his notes to the floor. And surely enough, the bed that held Dale Walters was empty, save for the hospital gown, which was still strapped into the bed.
Dale Walters opened his eyes slowly, flinching when he felt something wet touching his forehead.
“Easy there,” a woman said. Dale opened his eyes. He was no longer strapped in that curved bed, though he was still in a hospital gown. He was lying on a normal hospital bed, and a lady nurse was attending to him, patting away some blood from his forehead. “It looks like you had a rather nasty accident,” she said, rinsing the cloth in a basin of water. “But no one really knows what happened to you. Someone came into work this morning, and found you lying bleeding on the floor, naked.” She blushed at the last word, but she managed to ask a question. “Do you remember anything from last night, Mr. Walters?”
Dale closed his eyes. Images rushed through his mind, incredible yet terrible. Flying cities, towering trees, flying cars, grizzly-back races…
The nurse touched a tender spot on his head, and he flinched, his thoughts returning to reality. He opened his eyes, reached out, and took the nurse’s hand in his own. “You want to know if I remember what happened to me last night?”
She looked curiously at him and nodded.
“Well,” he began, but he noticed movement to the side. Through the window between the room and hallway he could see a man dressed in a dark suit, eyes obscured by dark glasses. The man seemed to be peering into the room, watching. The nurse saw Dale staring past her and she turned around, but the man had gone. “What is it?” she asked.
“Nothing,” Dale assured her. He looked back toward the window, unsurprised to see the grimacing face of George Nastrom. The engineer stared threateningly through the window for a moment, then was escorted away by the man in black.
“So what do you remember, Mr. Walters?” The nurse said again, prompting him.
“Didn’t you hear me?” Dale said, laughing a bit nervously. “I said nothing…I remember nothing at all.”
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