The Chase - pt. 1

“Calla Hartwell, please come to the office.”

The dean’s eager voice from the speakers snaps me out of my daze. Did they seriously report me? I peek back into the clubroom from outside the doors, but they’re doing their meeting now, and it doesn’t look like they had time to tattle. Still, the dean has never called me in like this before – what could he want?

After calming down a little and making myself look presentable again in the bathroom – because I am not meeting the head of school looking like some deranged crackhead – I head to the dean’s office. It’s not far from the study hall, only the next department across, so it’ll take me only a matter of minutes to get there. Outside, I see the IPU symbol attached to a car parked by the entrance gate in the distance. I don’t know why anyone from the IPU would be here, maybe to hopefully mitigate the damage Ezri just did by opening her big mouth, but their presence is somewhat comforting towards the storm raging in my head.

For once, I’m powerless against my own thoughts.

“Come in,” the dean says after hearing me knock on the door.

The dean sits at his desk, and a droid stands next to him. Like the vehicles outside, the white rose and compass is placed on its chest of iron, making it a “marked,” or M-droid. Marked droids are different than the average ones, who make up part of the labor force or serve as our helpers, since they are specifically used by the IPU to help handle missions from the government. We don’t typically have them around campus unless it’s some special request from Professor Katz – this, combined with the dean abruptly calling me here, is giving me nothing but questions.

I’m tempted to try and tell him about the news club, but I know that with their bogus “official” letter, any word from me alone would be useless – and now, unless they show themselves in person, the same goes for the IPU. How wonderful.

“Is something the matter, sir?” I ask.

“Well, I certainly hope not, Miss Hartwell,” he says, adjusting his glasses. “Apparently, your father is requesting you.”

“Even though he knows I’ll have class?”

“He says it’s something urgent, but he won’t tell me what,” he motions to the M-droid, “you have permission to leave, I’ll let your professors know.”

About the stunt Ezri pulled, no doubt. But I don’t understand why Dad didn’t call me about this first. I follow the M-droid out the exit, and soon enough we’re at the two cars in front of the institute. There’s another M-droid seated behind the wheel, and the one that escorted me here sits next to me in the back.

I stare out the window as the car pulls off, watching the sights go by while thoughts cloud my mind. Who knows what Ezri is sending out to people, using HQ to impersonate us. She could be planning to convince the whole country of her motive – and what is her motive? Yeah, she wants to get rid of the International Peace Union, I got that, but why? Why would anyone seek to destroy the organization that’s brought the world so much peace and prosperity? It’s madness.

Hitting the button in the middle, I open up the car’s panel to call Dad – but the option isn’t there. Must be something wrong with it. I check to see how long before we arrive at the mansion, but there’s no way to access the GPS either.

“It looks like there’s a bug in the panel, can you fix it?” I ask the M-droid that’s driving. Droids in the passenger seat aren’t able to get into vehicle systems like drivers can.

“Checking for bugs in the panel.” The droid emits a low humming sound, then a few moments later, it says, “I have found no bugs in the panel.”

“There has to be, I can’t call or see the GPS.”

“Those features are currently disabled for passenger use.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Why? Bring them back.”

“Administrator action required.”

“What are you talking about? You don’t need an Admin for something so basic, hurry up already.”

“I do not have the Administrator’s permission.”

Great, as if I’m in the mood for a malfunctioning droid. I guess even our number of Admins are staggering.

My impatience only grows. “Fine then, whatever. Can you at least tell me how long until we get to my mansion?”

“The residence of the Hartwell family is not in route.”

“Okay, so where are we going?”

“The Administrator has not given me permission to reveal the location.”

Something about this doesn’t feel right. Why would Dad send out an M-droid that’s so clearly defective? Not only that, the M-droids get more check-ups than the normal droids, so it’s not common for them to have flaws. Instead of relying on the panel, I grab my phone instead – but right before I can contact Dad, a cold hand touches mine, preventing me from doing so.

“The Administrator has temporarily disallowed communication,” the M-droid beside me says.

Now, I know for sure that this is wrong.

“Where is the Admin controlling you stationed?” I ask.

Another hum, then the droid says, “The Headquarters of the International Peace Union.”

My grip on my phone tightens, but otherwise, I show no noticeable behavior showing how this startling revelation is affecting me. What use could they possibly have for me? Did I piss Ezri off during that call? Memories of the slaughter from the Convention pass through my head, how they mercilessly shot all those people, even after we heeded Ezri’s warning. If I don’t make it out of here, then I could end up having the same fate.

While the M-droids aren’t paying attention, I slowly reach for the lock, while my other hand casually rests on top on of the seat belt buckle. When the car stops at a red light, the chance is here, and it’s not missed – my finger swipes against the lock and I pull the handle within the same instant, but it’s to no avail. The door won’t budge, no matter how hard I try to open it. The droids aren’t phased in the slightest by my attempts to escape, as if they couldn’t be more expressionless.

“Let me out,” I say through gritted teeth.

“Administrator action requi—”

“Oh, shut up!”

Since it’s the only thing I can do at this point, I continue trying to force my way out the door. Pushing, kicking, banging… All while the bots remain unbothered. It’s stupid, sure, but desperate times call for desperate measures, even while the car is moving again. Perhaps it’s just my pride, but I’d rather tumble down the road and risk something happening to me, than let myself fall into Ezri’s clutches. She can’t win again, she can’t.

“You make me sick!” my voice cracks as I yell out to her as though she can hear me. It’s followed by me slamming my knuckles against the window – and what surprises me more than the sudden throbbing pain is that I actually hit something out of anger. That’s no good, any outburst like that can potentially lead to violence if you’re vulnerable, as per studies by the IPU.

Obviously, I’m not worried about me of all people ending up in a facility, let alone being put to sleep. But still, such… “Impulses,” are foreign to me. I’ve been experiencing all types of new things since she came into the picture, and not one of them have been pleasant.

As I hold my injured fist, I notice that one of the M-droids has finally taken some interest in me. Its silver hands extend out to examine it carefully. The gesture catches me off guard, but it does give me an opportunity.

“The Administrator has instructed for no harm to come to you,” says the bot.

Gee, how “thoughtful” of Ezri. She’s probably just waiting to inflict pain upon me herself, that animal… But still, this order she’s given them can be taken advantage of, manipulated to make the droids obey my will instead of hers.

The sole purpose of a droid is to follow the directions given to them – no exceptions, no questions asked.

“It hurts really bad, I think I broke it,” I say, pretending to be in pain at the slightest touch.

The droid’s eyes glow into a bright yellow hue, indicating it’s about to scan me for fractures. Before it can, I snatch my wrist away and hide it from view, flinching afterwards to keep up the façade. If it finds out my knuckles are merely bruised rather than something more serious, this idea of mine won’t work.

“No, stop touching it, the pain is spreading—” I wince out. “Can we pull over? Please?”

As expected, the car stops at a curb. The droids are persistent in trying to scan me, but I don’t allow them, moving away and making up some excuse about it “hurting too much” each time. I just need to persuade them to at least open the door, that’s all. Then I’ll make a break for it, with an absolutely unknown chance of success – but trying is better than doing nothing at all.

“It’s starting to swell up, you need to take me to a hospital,” I say.

“The Administrator has stated passengers are not allowed to leave the vehicle until our destination. Please, allow me to scan your injury,” one of them offers for the 500th time already.

“Didn’t the Admin also say to take care of my wellbeing? If you don’t take me to a doctor, you’ll be disobeying that order.”

Both droids go quiet, as if contemplating with each other. The silence is daunting – whatever they do next will determine whether or not I can get out of here. Finally, after what felt like ages despite only being some seconds, the M-droid in the front says, “Requesting a doctor to come to this location.”

I slump back into my seat. That isn’t what I wanted it to do. Hypothetically, running away as soon as they let me out at the hospital would’ve been easy. Now, it’s all going to boil down to a whole lot of luck.

It doesn’t take long for a doctor to respond to the droid’s call, especially considering who the patient is. I spend the next 15 minutes continuing to avoid the droid’s insistence on checking me themselves. The only thing that frees me from them is the eventual sound of a small ambulance approaching from behind. A real professional is probably going to know my hand doesn’t require all this attention just at first glance, so I’ll have to move fast.

The assigned doctor steps out and walks to our car, holding a med-kit in her hand. She gently taps on the window, asking the droid to open it up. My heart races as the door slides open, beams of sunlight pouring in through the gap as it gets bigger. This is my only hope.

The doctor, whose time I apologize for wasting, takes a step closer to me – but just as she introduces herself, my feet are on the concrete.