Chapter 19: Homecoming (PART I)

It was about time. She took far too long. Bob was supposed to be the one to bring Roger back to the real world, yet the man drifted into the unexplored land of the dead. Tamara took care of her grieving mother in the hospital before they both went home, finding the bots dusting, seemingly feeling empty and sad for the old man's death. Cindy was put to bed, curling up all alone with drying tears crawling down her nose. Tamara learned how to silence the noises inside her head; it seemed that the AI was right when it said that the chip became comfortable with Tamara's mind way before it was awakened. The young one woke up in the middle of the night, unable to endure the hammering heart beats clashing on her chest. Her eyes burned. It was thought out to be the chip at first, but it wasn't.

Tamara looked at her reflection at the middle of the night. She washed her face. Cold water droplets fell from her thin face to the sink. She dried her face before sulking out of the house, feeling nostalgic not to hear her father's snoring.

I can't keep ignoring my part of this. Even if I'm afraid, even if I may not mean anything to Roger anymore, I have to do this.

She was already across the street with a hoodie on her head. Her hands were deep into her jacket's pocket. It was all dark and empty outside, nothing but flying light bots and patrol ones. Some bots had their eyes on her for scurrying out like that in the middle of the night. The hospital was just up ahead. She climbed up the stairs, each step something magnetic would attempt to pull her back, something her chip could not explain. However, her mind was resolved on doing this, on doing the one last good thing before fleeing the city for good. She knocked on the door before it opened; the doctor was still awake even though there seemed to be accumulating dark bags under his eyes.

"I didn't know you'd be awake," Tamara said, sitting by the other end of the room with the lost Roger between the two of them. The doctor gasped, taking his glasses off before rubbing both of his eyes. He rested his neck on the upper rail of the chair, looking at the fan attached to the ceiling.

"Why have you come now?"

"I am going to save him; I have to make the jump."

The doctor opened his eyes, not as if he was shocked but actually concerned. "Having a chip of your own doesn't mean you will get it done."

"My chip may not be as strong as Roger's, but I have better control over mine more than he ever could. I can make the jump, pull him out of there and get back with the both of us. I can do it, I'm just seeking your guidance, your opinion, feedback call it whatever you want, I just want to hear somebody tell me it's gonna be okay before I go all suicidal about saving this idiot!" Tamara's throat boiled as her vocal cords shook in pain. The doctor leaned towards the bed, towards Tamara from the other side.

"You may not understand. Pulling him back may not be his choice if he knew."

Tamara's heart struck. "Knew? Knew what?"

The doctor exhaled, standing and walking towards the drawers. He pulled test results with the tag of a prior day to it. He spread them across the table; placing two of them near Roger's feet when there was no place left.

"You see, we faced many cases that were somewhat… similar to your father's. This is usually the result of letting the chip take control several times, either that or attempt sudden jumps into the matrix. I thought it was only age, both of your fathers believed the same, yet the results we ran showed a different reason. It has always been about usage, not age. We thought Roger would be the exception, but he wouldn't be. His chip is just stronger, but he won't be able to discover the whole of it."

Tamara sat there at the side of the bed, hand on Roger and hand on her cheek. Tears were forming in her eyes; there she was losing someone again in front of her eyes. Knowing what you cannot do, she thought, would be the harshest of human suffering. Her chip could not extend lives, could not restore vitals and certainly could not control emotions. She was desperate and motionless.

"So, what is it that you want to say?"

The doctor put the results aside, taking his time in turning towards the girl.

"That he will be dead in a month. The way his brain cells are dying, especially with his time up there in space. I'm sorry, I know this can be painful, but it is the truth. There is no escaping this reality, at this rate the stroke will kill him. The chip will be unplugged from his brain. The meaninglessness of it all is just… let us say cruel. The reason why I am asking you not to do the jump is to spare him the human death. Up there in space, as his body withers here, it will seem like a shutdown. A click and it would all be done. But here, he will wish he hadn't been born because of the pain.

While hearing the words of the doctor, Tamara saw her father crawling towards her in pain. Despair was clearly visible at the core of his eyes, unable to speak a word. Instances of the way he died, of how he fell shaking at her feet and then withered and died. The nihilistic hell she was tormented in was something she would not wish for anyone else. Yet again she was the one to stop it all, to stop all the pain and let the man die in peace. Why bring him back to the world again if he was to be lost again? Who was she to make that choice anyway?

"This isn't the only thing to be said, darling," the old doctor said before sitting just facing her, their knees had almost touched. "You'd be killing two people if you do the jump, not just Roger. Your brain cells will likely be affected when you attempt to travel to the satellite. There's a small chance you'd make it out of there with no effects, but that's hard to say. You may get your father's sickness, yet it will be extended, not like Roger's short time. Come on, girl, save yourself and go. He will die anyway, now, tomorrow, next month tops, what is the meaning behind this resistance?"

Tamara remained silent, hearing all the words yet unable to speak back. She turned towards the doctor, nodding before she rose off the bed and walked towards the door. As the door tumbled behind her, the doctor wondered whether he had done the right thing by telling her, by inspiring her to let him go. Whether she did listen or not, he thought, it would all be the same. By the end of Roger's last month, he would be no more. He would either suffer and die a human, or vanish and die a program, an entity, a nonhuman. Barris walked towards the young Roger, placing his fingertips on his eyelids and then closing his eyes, as if he was dead already. The breathing, the waving of his chest was not supposed to matter anymore.

Tamara was already waned, sitting on a bench thinking. She sat on that same bench where she met Roger. In a way, she wondered, she had become just like him.

"This chip sure knows how to play games on me," Tamara said, commanding the chip to stop using her own mind against her. The chip obeyed, but at the price of loneliness. Tamara was left alone, and the place turned out to be darker than what the chip showed it to be. Nothing but calmness. Tamara was not tearing anymore, she just felt numb and alone. The building with the big plate was just across the street, the plate that would funnel her consciousness up to where Roger was supposed to be.

Who am I to decide? Why should I intervene if he is dying anyway?

She looked at a scrawny black cat, landing one foot in front of the other. Its mustache were long, his eyes seemed tired. The cat stood in its place, looking at her with its dancing tail behind it. The cat yawned, showing his teeth and tongue. Aside from humans, looking at something with a soul was pretty rare in Garlem.

I am being self-contradicting. Father was dying too, yet I went through hell just to save him. If it is about my life, I risked my life for dad too. Here comes the difference, Dad is Dad, Roger is Roger, what they mean to me is different.

The car slept under the bench in between her feet with its head on the girl's right foot. Some of its hair clung to her jeans.

Does this mean that Roger meant nothing to me? Does this mean that the way we talked about beauty back in class meant nothing? Does that mean everything we did to save Dad meant nothing? Does that mean his sacrifice to save Dad was meaningless?

She looked down, stretching her hand hesitatingly towards the cat. She started to rub its head, gently digging her nails into its fur. The cat closed its eyes, even raised its head for Tamara to rub it more. Its sight painted a smile across her face, a smile cornered in between two hot tears.

The rational answer was that he was a pawn, a tool for me to reach the target of the higher priority, because the latter meant more to me than the former, as if the former meant something. I should let him die, at least peacefully. But my heart says otherwise. To rob someone of the human experience, to rob someone of the chance to pet a cat like this one, to experience joy… happiness… beauty itself!

Tamara pulled the cat to her lap, rubbing its back. More of its hair clung unto her jacket. The cat licked the back of her hand. She would ginger as the cat started to roll across her lap.

A painful death is the price of the human experience. I can't allow Roger to let it go, I have to pull him back.

Tamara looked up at the plate, miles away from it. She put the little cat aside, playing with its nose before standing tall with her eyes focused on the plate. Something inside her skull started to tingle, as if small sparkling were initiated. Tamara stood with her hands clenched, similar to the way Roger stood next to the plate. The contact was initiated; small bits of data were connecting before she found the funnel towards the plate. Her eyes were bluer than usual, lighter than usual. It felt like a storm took her, freeing her hair off the hood's grip.

This is not one of those noble decisions. I'm not doing this for the greater good. It's just for my own good.

CONTACT INITATED…

CAUTION!

PERMISSION TO CARRY OUT THE PROCESS…

This is a selfish decision.

PERMISSION GRANTED...

A wave of shock had befallen her before she fell on the bench with her hair sprawling down, half-covered by her hood. The black cat was nowhere to be found.