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"Twenty four hours ago I was free as a bird," she said, toting the cliché ball and chain across the concrete floor. "My only
offense was that I was too human." She sat down with a rusty creak on a lone plastic chair and stared into the video camera.
"As soon as they got the hang of making robots and could make them at low cost, they started perfecting them. That's what
they do with everything don't they? Once they've got the technique down, they try making it better. So, then models of new
robots came out for people to buy for only one or two hundred. They made them sensitive to heat and cold and basic emotions.
They figured out how to get them to simulate the language process and speak without a programmed speech. Every model was one-upping
the other model another company made. But things started getting really bad when emotions came into play. That was the door
separating robots from humans and some idiot had to go find the key. Soon, robots had emotions like fear, hatred, love, jealousy,
and frustration. They became less and less perfect and more flawed. Eventually, we were making humans from metal scraps and
ethics got involved. The simple strive for perfection went up in political flames and people were quoting everything from
the Greek mythology to The Terminator to make their point. Physical and intellectual guns went off in all directions and this
bloody 'coup d'état' lasted for about a decade. Then, without warning, they boxed up robots like me and started from scratch
remaking robots from the first models. Some they shut off, others were hired for small jobs: flipping hamburgers, emptying
garbage, and so on. Still others were kept in deliberate hiding until the time came to coup them up in jail for imaginary
crimes. That's what happened to me. If you look at my record it'll say I'm in here for smuggling drugs, but the only way they
established that was after a doctor examination. They never mention why you're really here but deep down inside you know it's
because you're a robot. You know it's because you're different. And that's just wrong."
The tape flickered out to black and then flashed back to static. Dr. Cindy Lawson rewound the tape and ejected it out of
the player. She turned to the teenage boy, Aaron, who had brought this to her and handed it back to him. His long black hair
was deliberately placed over his eyes and in one fast motion he brushed his hair to one side and grabbed the tape.
"You realize the evidence you brought to me," she said sitting down.
He nodded, but remained silent. She sighed in frustration and stared into his blue eyes like a cat staring down its prey.
He looked up.
"She doesn't exist. Her records will not be in the computer as dead or alive. She's an illegal model. I can't do anything
to get your girlfriend out. Besides," Cindy said putting the file folder back, "if she's a robot there's even less I can do.
There are no more laws on robots protecting them from the government than I can even break. For the future, any marriage or
relationship is null according to government standards. If you do succeed in having children, you'll set the whole world in
an uproar, again."
Aaron looked at her with a greater ferocity and said coldly: "She's not a robot."
Cindy jerked her head back in surprise, but kept her gaze. "What?"
"I said: she's not a robot. She only thinks she is. She's human. I think they brainwashed her in that 'doctor visit' and
made her think she was a robot. Besides, there's no proof that the 700's even know that they aren't 100% human."
"Do you have any proof that she's human? Right now, it's your word against theirs."
“Are you in? I’m not going to waste my time if you won’t help me.”
“Right now, I’m a third uninvolved party.”
He looked at her skeptically, but continued, whisking his head to the side to get his hair out of his eyes. “I have
written and oral accounts of her from school and other stuff. I even managed to steal some of her records out of various filing
cabinets from the organizations she was involved in. Even medical records and everything says she was human. Then she disappeared
and I get this tape in the mail saying that she’s a robot.”
“Why did you have her records in the first place?”
“We were planning on running away to Betelgeuse VII,” he said quietly, “and we needed our records to relocate.”
Cindy sighed and pulled out a pad of yellow paper. “It’s probably much more complicated than that,” she
said, “she probably needed help and just so no one would suspect anything, she put clues in the video.”
“Exactly,” he said pointing his finger at her emphatically and leaning back in the chair.
“In which case,” Cindy continued, “she is still human and she knows she is human. What we need to figure
out is why she sent this cry for help.”
“We?”
She ignored him and pulled out a pen from the pencil cup on her desk. “What sort of organizations was she involved
in?”
He paused and stared at his shoes. “Well, she was a big supporter of the Robot Equality Act of 2029. When people signed
petitions to get it changed, she signed just about all of them. If it came to politics, she was always talking about how robots
should be treated like people and they should relocate them to other planets and do other exploration advances because some
of the older new models never age and they don’t die. She was always seeing things that humans could do and what robots
could do. I used to tell her that there weren’t enough jobs for all the people in the world, let alone robots, too,
but it was like talking to a brick wall. The only thing we truly disagreed on was that subject. Nothing else is worth noting.
Except maybe the supplementary mafia.”
“Supplementary mafia?”
“Sorry,” he said laughing a little, “it’s an underground organization that gives a time limit on
people’s existence. Basically, the person that has not had a job for six years and does nothing but sit in his parents’
basement all day will have a horrible accident in the next few days if he doesn’t change his ways. They consider it
cleaning out the gene pool. Trish joined most likely for people who would be racist, bigoted, or generally rude. It would
give her the power to anonymously threaten them. She never killed anyone though, she would only use it as a harmless outlet
for her anger.”
Cindy eyed him cautiously and surreptitiously checked her watch. “Well, we had better get going if we’re going
to catch an air bus.”
He stood up quickly and gave her a frightened look. “Where to?”
“Betelgeuse VII.”
They took a taxi down to the bus station and waited in long lines to pay their fare. Cindy looked at her watch: five o’clock.
Aaron seemed nervous, but whenever she would turn to ask him if he was all right, he would just bite his lip and nod.
“Are you sure we have to do this?” he said, again.
She gave him an exasperated look, but paused as she watched him following her blindly down to the terminal. He was staring
out the windows and she could see he was giving it all his effort not cry. She stopped at put her arm around his shoulders.
“Come on, we’re almost there. If she’s going to be anywhere, she’ll be somewhere around Betelgeuse
VII. If not, it’s a good place to start looking.”
“I just,” he started, but stopped as the signal to start boarding blasted on the intercom. The other passengers
pushed them onto the bus; Aaron took a seat to the back as soon as he could.
“You just…” she prompted him, but he kept his lips shut and stared out the window for the remainder of
the ride.
Betelgeuse VII was one of the quieter stations, but dark and dimly filled with neon life. Occasionally a dark hole in the
wall would appear as the restrooms, telephones, or an exit transporter. Cindy glanced at her watch as she led Aaron towards
the taxi terminal: seven thirty.
“We’d better go to a hotel for the night. I don’t have much cash with me but I’m sure a small motel
should be sufficient. We’ll start looking tomorrow. Any ideas where to start?” She turned around at this question
to face a multitude of strangers continuing to walk along their paths towards an exit. She glanced around, trying not to be
pulled by the traffic, but couldn’t find Aaron anywhere. “Damn,” she swore quietly and tried pushing herself
upstream to a wall. The people ignored her as she scrambled to get to a quiet place to think. After noticing a small black
hole labeled women’s bathroom, she snuck into the florescent-lit room and stared into the mirror.
“What are you doing here?” a girl asked. Her hair was dyed a bright fire engine red and she leaned against the
sink to look Cindy in the face as she said this. Her eyes were green and glowed softly.
Cindy looked at the girl nonchalantly. “Going to pee. What do you expect?” To make her point, she started walking
towards the stall, but the girl grabbed her elbow and pulled hard.
“I like you. You’re not one of those stodgy old adults. You’ve got spunk and class. Hi, I’m Trish.”
Cindy gave her a half smile. “Megan.”
Trish gave her half a nod and pulled up beside Cindy. “You should really change your name. It seems so…blah. You
need something with more attitude. Hey, you want to see something really cool?” she asked suddenly.
Cindy laughed. “Sure, why not?”
“Follow me. But whatever you do, don’t talk.” Trish led Cindy into the far bathroom stall and pulled the
toilet from the wall like a chair. Underneath the apparatus was a small ring, which Trish pulled and opened a staircase. She
ran down the stairs with expert speed, then turned around and put her finger to her lips before continuing down. Cindy looked
about her for something to take with, but could find no pipes; at this point Trish was already out of sight. Cindy followed
quickly, trying not to touch anything in the pitch black.
Cindy felt like she was in a broken film and the same scene was playing over and over again. She was still in the dark and
she continued for what felt like hours down the staircase. The only measure of time she had was the steady decrease in temperature.
Finally, she spotted a light at the bottom of the staircase. As she approached, she realized that two people were talking
and as she reached the rim of the circle of light, she could hear what they were saying.
“Well, what do we do about her? We still haven’t come to a consensus.” Though she couldn’t see him,
she could tell that Aaron had made it down here before her and she felt a pang of panic as she realized she was to fend for
herself.
“You sure she’s fooled?” a woman said, though from what Cindy could tell it didn’t sound like Trish.
“I told you, I gave her the video just like planned. And I told her all that BS you had me memorize. I did my end perfectly,”
Aaron said, annoyed.
“Well that’s a change,” the woman responded.
“Stop,” another man’s voice said. “She’s here.”
The light turned dramatically on her and she squinted in the sudden change of light. “Welcome to Hell,” the man
said. Cindy couldn’t see who was as she was bathed in light and the people who were just talking were in the dark.
“Well if I’m going to die,” Cindy said, “I might as well get some answers before I do. Some closure
if you will.” She could hear safeties being clicked off and her skin started to tingle in panicked anticipation.
The man laughed. “But if you get away, all my secrets get out.”
Cindy stared down the light. “I won’t get away. You have the obvious upper hand.”
The man laughed again. “Fair enough.” She heard him stand up in a creak of metal joints. The light on her dimmed
and lights around her faded on. The room was a large cavernous business office with a chair bolted to the floor right at the
bottom of the stairs. The only cover she noted were the pillars holding the terminal up. Four doors lined the sides of the
room, but it was obvious they were locked and the deadbolts and chains would be a pain to get through if she was under fire.
The stairs came in at the lower right corner of the square room right next to the wall. Aaron was leaning against it, his
arms folded across his chest. The second woman who was talking was dressed in a skin tight black uniform and had an automatic
rifle in her hand farthest from Cindy; the hand closest was robotic and the sleeve of her uniform was ripped off to show the
entire mechanical arm proudly. The head of this odd group was not a man as she had supposed, but she noted without surprised
that he was not in the best condition either way. He had been stripped of synthetic flesh and was a 700 model. The blue chrome
glimmered in the light and Cindy sat down on the steps.
“Well, you don’t seem surprised.”
“The only thing I find surprising is the curious absence of the girl who led me down here.”
“I was hoping for a little more discomfort than that.”
Cindy smiled. “I’m sorry. I work with people who are crazy. I’m a psychologist.”
“Oh, so that’s what you do,” Aaron said shifting so he was standing up straight, his arms still across his
chest.
“Shut up, Aaron,” the mechanical man said. “She’s looking for answers and we’re going to give
them to her. I’ll start by telling you a little bit about my crew. You’ve already met Aaron, who is just a human
orphan we found on Alpha Centauri VI. He was found abandoned and dying in the middle of the base under the main terminal.
To my left, is Margarita. She is also is human, but in a tragic police accident lost the left half of her upper body and is
half 600 robot. The little doll you met coming her is Patricia. And she is a figment of your imagination. She’s a sprite,
I believe. A hologram. You see what you want to see in her and when you don’t want to see her, she’s gone. The
girl in the video is Sandra, who had a tragic accident and couldn’t be with us tonight. I’m Maxwell 700 and the
last of the 700s to date.”
Cindy nodded. “Fascinating. So where do I come in. What’s your mission?”
“You already know my mission. Well, I suppose I should tell you how I lost my skin. It was a riot on Betelgeuse III
between robots and humans. The whole base is known for their bigotry against robots. Some fight got started because a robot
didn’t get down on its knees or it asked for directions of a human, something stupid to that effect. I got caught in
the cross fire and ended up being burned with the other robots who didn’t make it. But I didn’t break down; I
was a 700 and they didn’t expect there to be a 700. I fled to Betelgeuse VII since I couldn’t leave the bases
without proper identification and built a tunnel under various places in the terminal down to the forgotten basements. I knew
there had to be a basement, since the building was standing and in some places go quite high off the ground. I set up the
supplementary mafia as a sort of bridge between bigoted people and what society thought of them. For obvious reasons, I couldn’t
take this mission any farther than where it is now; the government would be after me for even suggesting such drastic measures
for equality. And that’s where you come in. I needed someone to reach the people and tell them that equality was a good
idea. There are parts of the human brain that I don’t understand and I believe it’s important to take a nonviolent
approach to it if we are going to come out of hiding and make it work. I’m not succeeding in my work and I think it
would be vastly more appropriate to be nonviolent than a hypocrite.”
“Ok. Why the guns and show? You could have just asked me.”
“No, I couldn’t. I told you, if I let you go, my secret gets out.”
“And if I didn’t come today? I might have let someone else know about the supplementary mafia before you were
ready.”
“And why would you? It didn’t seem to have any significance then.”
Cindy paused, stuck in logic. “This just seems wrong,” she said honestly. “Hypnotize me if you want or do
something to convince yourself that I won’t tell, but I can’t do it. We’re brainwashing a people for equality
and while the cause is something I believe in, I don’t think we can take drastic approaches like this. It’ll be
impossible to ‘fix’ everyone anyway. Someone down the line will figure out that they’re being brainwashed
and resist. People on this end will die and no one will understand because no one will listen based on the approach to change
them. People don’t like change and if they want to change, they should do it on their own. Besides, that’s the
only permanent way to guarantee the results you want.”
The robot shook his head. “I can’t let you go.”
“Then don’t let me go,” Cindy said defiantly, standing up. “But just reassure me that you see my point.
I fully support you and if I can leave, I will take a more active role in helping out robots in government certified and appropriate
organizations. You just can’t do it this way. Look at history and see, that brainwashing has never worked before.”
Margarita walked over to the stairs and started walking up. “She’s got a point,” she said turning around
after reaching a few steps behind Cindy’s step. “But this isn’t going according to plan.”
The 700 laughed. “You think?” he sat down in the chair bolted to the floor and looked Cindy in the eye. A shiver
ran up her spine as he continued. “I might as well tell you none of our guns are loaded. And I’m going to have
to take you to your word and I need you to do something for me to ensure that you’re not going to spill the beans. Are
you up for the challenge?”
Cindy nodded. “Most assuredly.”
The robot accepted her answer and called over a member of the guard. The black chrome 500 walked over without so much as
a move of recognition to Cindy and bent down as the 700 whispered in its ear, pointing to her on the steps occasionally with
a smile.
“You’re going to wish you didn’t say that,” Margarita whispered behind her.
“What could he possibly do to me with unloaded guns? He’s got no supplies. The doors over there are locked and
we’re in an open room, so he’s got nothing hidden away.”
“You have no idea,” she said walking past Cindy to lean against the wall at the bottom of the steps. “And
I wish I didn’t either.”
“You ought to know what happened to Sandra,” Margarita said, quietly, glancing at the 700 to make sure he wasn’t
watching her. “She was an actress, a good one too. And when Maxwell decided that he needed her, she disappeared from
the scene. He erased her records, burned her films, and got rid of her completely. No one knew what had happened and when
there was no written work, people just assumed she wasn’t real. Then, he used her. She was the face of democracy, she
was the distractions he needed to get into hotels, past security, and rubbing elbows with the people we were to kill. Her
last job was this tape. She wrote out the lines that Aaron had to say and then went into one of those rooms and recited her
lines. Improvised the hell out of them and then, like promised, killed herself. Well, that’s what we were told, but
no corpse can be so mangled if she did it to herself. We had no idea whether this would work until long after she was dead.
None of us, except Aaron and Maxwell had seen the tape before.”
“Why are you telling me this?” Cindy asked, pale. She could feel her hands getting numb from the cold and her
stomach was knotting up at the smile the 700 had on his face.
Margarita shrugged. “I didn’t seem to hurt to tell you. Whatever he’s got planned, I’m sure it won’t
matter if you know a little bit more about the morals we run on. I was drafted into this, like you, and no matter how much
you know, if you get out alive, the information you have won’t make a difference.”
Maxwell 700 stood up and bowed. “Please excuse us, we will be a while. Some preparations need to be made.”
As the 700 and his entourage of robots walked towards a nearby door, Aaron walked over to her with a smile. “Well, nervous?”
Margarita pushed him away. “She doesn’t need you anymore. Why should she trust you?”
“And she should trust you?” Aaron sat down on the step and leaned against the wall like he had done in her office.
“God, he’s making this so long. Why can’t he just get it over with? I’m sick of all the drama.”
“It seems like his whole existence is drama,” Cindy said, sitting next to him. “What’s you’re
story, Aaron? I can’t believe you’ve been here all your life.”
“Yep. I’ve pretty much help build the place. Before I inherited the title of ‘technology connoisseur,’
we had a guy down here that would do nothing but build traps, lights; basically all the stage junk you see here. It’s
crazy. He’s probably going to push a button and create an entirely new room.”
Margarita sat down on the floor between the two. “Hey, Aaron. Weren’t you drafted down here? You used to live
with you’re parents on Earth, right?”
Aaron sighed. “My parents were target for trying to get the robots off Earth and keep it purely environmental. It was
a sticky situation, but somehow they succeeded and the word got all the way to Betelgeuse VII. After that, he pulled me down
here to do mostly tech jobs, but occasional assassinations. Nothing too big. See, I acted too before I came here and I managed
to make him believe I was sincere in my cause. It’s up to you to trust us, but I thought before you go, just a couple
tips, it seems like he’s almost done. If he uses room seven, just make sure not to touch anything. Room six, I would
not look into the light. Room five, Keep down low, and don’t stand up all the way. Room four, I hope not, but there
are lots of weapons in room four. Try not to touch anything, but if you’re in a jam, there are plenty of things to use.
Don’t believe anything you see in room three and room two and room one should be fine. They’re just storage rooms,
so you’re not going to be there. If you are, just use the walls; they’re the only two rooms with real walls.”
Cindy gaped at him. “Wait! Room seven, don’t— “
“No time,” Aaron said getting up walking away with a faux air of superior annoyance, “remember he likes
theatrics.”
Maxwell 700 announced his arrival with the clank of rusty metal. “The idea is quite simple,” he started, lifting
her up from her seat and escorting her to the only open door in the room. “It’s less of a strength game than one
of wits. You receive a riddle and when you answer the riddle, you are given a key. The key will enable you to continue to
the next room. Take as long as you need. Good luck.” At these last words, the 700 pushed her into the room and shut
the door loudly. She waited for the click of the lock before a single spotlight clicked on to a box in the middle of the room.
She approached it slowly, but remained on the outside of the circle of light. Cindy looked up into the rafters, trying to
find the light source and hopefully, what the 700 had in store for her. She remained absolutely still and waited. At a point,
it took her entire will to stop her mind from just pulling the rest of her into the circle of light and move, but she remained
composed. Compromising, she sat down and folded her hands in her lap.
She was awakened by the sound of the door opening and someone entering, but there was no other sound following that. She
turned around to face her visitor, but couldn’t see anything and when she turned around a figure had stepped into the
light and opened the chest in the middle. Instantly, there was a whir of machinery and clicks of the room being changed. The
robot calmly handed her the piece of paper and stood facing her without another move. At her touch, the paper disintegrated
and turned into a sandy powder. Lights dimmed on in front of her to reveal a beach. She felt the robot pushing her forward
towards the soft sand, pulsing waves, and warm breeze. Cindy took a deep breath of the metallic air and turned to face the
source of the waves to brush away the wisps of hair starting to frame her face. Her eyes rested on a lone figure sitting on
the sand. The creature’s hair was black and the artificial sun gave it a blue glow. As she approached, she saw it was
an ageless man resting his head on his knees, his green-gray eyes focused on the sea. He made no move of recognition when
she caught up with him and sat down next to him on the sand. She followed his gaze with her own pastel blue eyes to the glowing
white line of the horizon.
“I suppose you want the question,” he said. His voice was thick with a Scottish accent and her mind took a few
seconds to comprehend what he had said. He took this as an answer and concluded, “I don’t know.”
“Quite,” she said, though she couldn’t figure out why. “Just the key if you will.”
The man looked at her. “Key?”
“Well, if you don’t have the question, then surely you have the key.”
He looked at her blankly for a moment and then laughed. His laughter ceased as quickly as it had started and he looked at
her with stone cold eyes. “Clever of you. But while I don’t have a question, I do have an answer.”
They sat looking at each other for a while before Cindy stood up. “Get up,” she said, annoyed. She pulled him
from his seat and dragged him across the sand.
He protested and tried pulling his arm away from hers when he thought she was relaxing her grip, but she managed to hold
on fast to his arm and drag him across the beach. Her stomach started to growl when she dared stop and she plopped onto the
ground, pulling the man down with her.
“I haven’t seen the end of this beach,” the man said out of breath. He was lying on the sand, his arm still
in her hand, leaning against his elbow as best he could manage. He gazed at her quietly for a few moments while trying to
regain his breath. “I don’t suppose there is an exit. People come in all the time, but no one has ever come out.”
Cindy stared at the waves reluctantly. “Where is everybody?”
The man sighed and lied down in the sand submissively. “I’m the last one. The girl I found just disappeared after
I got lost. She made me swear for my life to say to the next person who came in: I suppose you want the question, but I don’t
know. And the other rubbish.”
Cindy looked at him with a start. “How’d you get lost?”
“I just—I don’t know. Suddenly I was here all alone and after walking for days, I couldn’t find anyone
else.”
“Damn, I knew it!” Cindy cried, pinching her nose bridge with her free hand.
“What?” the man asked, scrambling to sit up to be at eye level with her.
“That’s the riddle. Well, not really. The whole thing is a puzzle.”
“I don’t understand.”
“He puts someone into this room and says to solve a riddle and you get a key. This key is how you get to the next room.
The riddle is figuring out that he removes the previous person when a new person comes in. You could leave, but then I’m
stuck until someone else comes. The key is you; you’re my ticket out of here. The next room is wherever you lead me
when they take you away. So, we can’t get separated or I’m stuck.”
The man looked at her. “I’ve never realized that.” He sat there in silence for a while before prying his
arm gently from her grip. “If you promise to get me out, I’ll try and help you. But I don’t want to be stuck
here any longer.”
Cindy put her hand on his shoulder. “I promise.”
When both of them were tired, they decided on shifts for the night. Cindy watched the sun go down and the clear-lit moon rise
up, lighting the sand to blue crystals. She relaxed and allowed her eyes to droop just slightly. Suddenly out of the corner
of her eye, the man she had met was being dragged ever so slightly behind her. She turned around quickly and grabbed his ankle
in one movement. The black shape behind her pulled him faster, and she scramble to keep up with his moving figure. He had
awaken by then and was trying to put his feet down to run, but couldn’t because she was holding on. In the darkness,
she felt his hand grab her shoulder and she let go of his ankle and grabbed his outstretched arm. Their hands linked and she
felt safe again; she became conscious of her heartbeat and tried to slow it down. Minutes went by when she spotted another
single spot light on a box. They stopped in front of it and another pair of hands pushed her into the circle of light alone.
She opened the box carefully and peered inside. Surprisingly, there was no rolled parchment, but a small pistol that she had
seen before in movies set in the nineteen forties. She reached to pick it up, but stopped and withdrew her hand. Remember
he likes theatrics. Fine, she thought, I’ll give him theatrics. She kicked over the box and stepped back to the edge
of the light. Silence followed the crash of the box falling and the skid of the pistol across the floor. Then there was a
click of a pulley being let down before a final click where it stopped behind her. Maxwell 700 got off the elevator and stepped
beside her. For a few moments they stood staring at each other before he walked over and picked up the pistol. Aiming it at
her he click off the safety.
“At your word,” he said firmly.
She took a deep breath. “It’s roulette,” she said moving closer to the small barrel. “Shoot.”
The gun went off and silence followed; both stood motionless for the unknown amount of time to follow. Then she took a step
forward and the lights came up on a warehouse filled with wires. The single door at the end of the long room shuttered and
clicked as someone struggled with the door. Quickly, she ran to the 700 and wrenched the gun out of his hand. He stayed statue
still with his hand still hovering over an imaginary trigger.
“Cindy, what the hell?” Aaron yelled. He coughed suddenly and fell on the floor. Cindy ran over to him, but stayed
quiet. She felt a tug at her stomach as invisible hands tried to pull it and the rest of her digestive tract out her mouth.
She lurched forward. Cold hands pulled her backwards and slipped a gas mask over her face. Through foggy lenses, she saw people
collapse, a few managing to scream as the motionless robots stood perfectly still through the haze. She turned around to see
who had joined her and met Margarita’s glassy eyes.
“I’m half robot,” she said, pulling Cindy up. “I’m only half fading.” She smiled and gave
Cindy a little push. “The door is straight ahead if you follow the left wall. Get the hell out of here before he wakes
his robots up.”
Without second warning, Cindy ran. She ran up the stairs past the point of her lungs bursting and her legs burning with pain.
She ran until she reached the top of the stairs and her outstretched hand met resistance. Pushing with all of her weight,
she reached the bathroom stall where she had first met Trish. She had knocked over the toilet in her haste and it lay cracked
on the tile floor. Cindy replaced the trap door and just for good measure, put the pieces of the toilet over the door. Only
then did she stop to breath and take of the mask. She dropped the mask on the toilet debris and stepped out of the stall.
A girl with fire engine red hair was looking at herself in the mirror and putting on matching red lipstick.
“How long will you be gone?” she asked, but Cindy ignored her and walked out of the bathroom back into the terminal.
The river of people was still continuing its separate ways, ignoring the black holes of doorways in the walls. She heard a
crash behind her of smashed porcelain and with a final rush of adrenaline, entered the stream of people.
She followed a small group who broke off from the stream to a terminal returning back to Earth. Hesitating about whether or
not she should sneak on, she bought a ticket at the booth and waited at the terminal. The intercom buzzed on and announced
boarding just as a medium height boy with rustled black hair came running up to her. Everything except his face looked like
Aaron. She turned away and hurried onto the airbus. She heard the boy being stopped by the guards at the door for not having
a ticket before the door closed and eliminated the sound. The threesome argued for a bit before the engines kicked in and
she flew away.
A few months later a package arrived in the mail. In it was a box of flowers and an obituary: “Aaron Cane, age 17 was
found dead in the middle of the Betelgeuse VII terminal on August 24. He was apparently asphyxiated. May his body and soul
rest in peace.” She found no name attached to the letter, but she put the flowers in a vase and the newspaper clipping
on her bulletin board. Then, she locked her office door and took a shuttle down to Betelgeuse VII. Taking a deep breath of
the air, she just sat down in the middle of the terminal where she had imagined him being found. She meditated for hours that
first day before getting up, her face streaked with tears, and getting on a shuttle back to Earth.
Eventually the flowers wilted and the obituary faded, but she would still visit the Betelgeuse VII terminal every month and
sit in the spot where she imagined he was found. She didn’t know why something in her needed to go back for closure,
but she would satisfy it anyway. Every month she would stand back up after an hour had passed and buy another ticket back
to her office on Earth. Although she never really knew him and couldn’t figure out why she would get so depressed on
August 24, she would half imagine a medium height boy with ruffled black hair nonchalantly walking on the bus and sitting
next to her.
“I’ve got a problem,” he would say pulling out a videotape, “my friend’s gone missing.”
She smiled. I think we could all say that, she thought and watched the Betelgeuse VII terminal out her window slowly getting
farther away.
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