Save Her

Drayden - Chapter 6-3

I look at the metallic holes in my forearm and feel them. They’re now as much a part of me as my skin and my eyes. Reginald had the same. It was how the gray box had made us what we are. I had already figured out how to plug in, and I had found what seemed to be the source files. But they were scattered, like billions of pieces of puzzle all mixed up in a giant pot, which made them worthless without the means for output. And that’s when a thought hit me: ‘External’ isn’t the computer; it’s outside the computer. An outside location! I open the file ‘fght17894wngchn’ again and scrolled to the bottom, reading each of the over twenty-two thousand lines carefully. And I find it! Buried in the code is a single line: =external(transfer_all)externalsync.com&ie=UTF-8&oe=UTF-8=sync+ew_upr25-12998. Externalsync.com!

I type ‘www.externalsync.com’ directly into the address bar. It opens to a pure-black screen with a single white text box in the upper left-hand corner. I recall the last password from the little brown book that had not been crossed out and type it into the box exactly: 23kk59ERW809. I hit ‘return,’ and the webpage opens.

Floating in a virtual blue sky on the computer screen in front of me is an avatar of my brother. It looks just like him, shaved head and all, but I also see a little of me in the smooth, not quite human, computer graphics. That’s just the way it always was with us. Same but different. Different, but very much the same. Even looking at him now on the screen I wonder how I could have bought into mother’s lie that we were only half-brothers. There’s just no way it could have been true. The similarities between Reginald and I are too many. The lean build we both share, the broad shoulders, and our strong jaw makes it so purely evident.

The avatar wears pants but nothing else. The row of black dots on the left forearm is plainly clear as the avatar image moves slightly left and right in front of the blue sky. To the top right of the page is a listing of options: ‘new’; ‘preview code’; ‘edit’; ‘choose ability’; ‘sync ability.’ I go straight for ‘sync ability’ because that intrigues me the most. I click on it, but the computer responds with a rejection noise and a dialogue box that says: “Whoops. You forgot to select an ability.” I smile at Reginald’s sense of humor in computer form. “You want me to select an ability,” I whisper to myself before clicking on ‘choose ability.’ ‘Languages’ is the first file followed by ‘Fragment.' I'm not sure what 'fragment' might mean, and look at the file size and it's huge, so I click on 'Languages.' A long listing of languages drops in random order. Some are highlighted in red and others in green. I surmise that the red are as yet unfinished and that the green are usable and notice that ‘Russian’ is one of those that are green. My dealings with Russians lately make me think that’s not a bad place to start, so I click on that ability, and it gets added to the ‘sync’ bar that immediately appears at the top left of the screen. I can apparently add more than one ability at a time before syncing. I stick with just the Russian and nothing else and then click once again on ‘sync’. Another error appears. It says: “You’re not plugged in. C’mon, get your act together.” Frustrated at myself, I groan softly, reach for the dangling plug, and insert the metal pins into the black holes of my forearm. I hide my forearm underneath the table and click ‘sync’ again.

The program immediately enters me and zaps me into a paralysis that shakes me into what must look like an epileptic seizure. I look as far left and right as my eyes can see around the coffee shop as the program literally downloads into my system. Everyone is looking at me. Some more concerned than others. I’m helpless. I can’t move. I can’t pull the plug to stop it. My vision fragments like a television screen with defective pixels as the data downloads into my body. I see in my peripheral a girl at a nearby table push her chair out and back away like she might catch whatever it is I have. I’m convulsing now. A man three tables over pushes his chair out and rushes to me. He’s trying to lie me down. I can barely see the computer monitor because I’m shaking so much. The download progress bar is nearly halfway complete. How long have I been shaking now?, I wonder. It could have been seconds or minutes. The man yells something loudly. I think he thinks I’m in pain, but I’m not. I feel nothing. Others circle close to help the man help me. It sounds like he’s asking somebody to call an ambulance, but his words are metallic and fragmented, like a staccato computer voice that’s still learning how to speak. The man tilts my chair back with me still in it, and I’m suddenly on the floor looking up at the ceiling. I have enough movement and control in my eyes to see the man about to pull the plug from my arm. I try to shake my head for him to stop, but it’s too late. As soon as the plug disengages from me, the download finishes, as does the convulsing. Everything returns to normal. I look at my arm, and nothing is different. I reach for the cord quickly to make sure it’s not broken, and it’s not. Thank goodness for that.

“I’m okay, thank you,” I say to the man as I get up. He tries to hold me down, but I’m much stronger than he realizes and get up against his force, surprising him. I thank him earnestly and everyone around me. “Really, I’m okay. I appreciate your help. Thank you so much.”

The man is looking at me with wide eyes and not saying anything else, as if he’s not sure whether to believe me, and I wonder what I looked like to him: from completely spastic and out of control, to able-bodied and clear-minded in about an instant. He finally nods and backs away. I get the feeling he’s a doctor or is studying to become one because he just doesn’t seem sure I won’t relapse into my state of vibratory convulsions.

“Thank you, again,” I say. He nods and continues backing up to his table. Everyone else disperses as well. The manager of the coffee shop makes her way in and informs me that an ambulance is on the way.

“Please sit down until it gets here,” she says. I focus my hearing outside the coffee shop and hear the sirens. They’re probably still three-quarters of a mile away, but they’re coming fast. I quickly close the laptop, unplug the power cord and the sync cord, and put everything into the briefcase with all my cash.

“I’m fine. Thank you again!” I say as I pick up my stuff and run out.

I jog down the street for several blocks before stopping. The sync had been disrupted halfway through the download, but, nevertheless, there was one thing very different about me now: Я говорю русского. Or, translated: I can speak Russian.