“We don't have time for you to portion out the information. You did it the right way, and I don't know if you could tell, but they’re ready to go to war for you.” 13 smiles at me.
His words trigger flashes of the dreams I had, where I spoke in front of thousands of drones. My hands sweat with anxiety. I was so nervous giving that speech to those two drones. How am I supposed to lead thousands, hundreds, or even ten?
“I need to go talk to Paz and tell her that we succeeded.” I'm speaking to myself more than 13. I need to tell her about what we did, but I also need to talk to her about how I feel overwhelmed with everything expected of me. I'm not a leader.
“Good idea,” 13 responds. “Maybe she has more of the vials for you.”
I don't waste time when I get back to the stadium. I weave my way through the corridors with a determined stride to keep up appearances and find Paz's office. I try the door, but the knob is locked. When I knock, I don't get an answer. She must not be in there. Without knowing when she might be back, I choose to wait by her door, making sure to stand at attention whenever anyone passes. I can at least make it appear that I was assigned to this post.
After a few minutes, the door opens from the inside. It startles me, but I use the sudden adrenaline to turn in to the door. I catch myself before I blurt out a word as I find myself face to face with Erin.
“Hello, 80.” Her harsh tone almost makes me cringe.
I need to be careful around her. She wasn't welcoming on the trip from the compound, and she was very suspicious of what 13 and I were doing on patrol. “Hello.”
“Where is your buddy?” She looks around me.
“I don't know,” I spit out a little too hard, causing her to step back.
She steps back into my face. “What do you do around here? What are you up to?”
“He's here for an appointment,” Paz interjects. She steps behind Erin, doubling her in size.
Though I may not intimidate her, Erin cowers at any movement or sound coming from Paz. Erin pushes by me, scowling as she heads off down the hallway.
“Sorry about that,” I say.
“Don't mind her. She's harmless.” Paz invites me in and shuts the door behind me. “What news have you got for me?”
“We did it!” I exclaim as I grab a protein pouch and take a seat. I'm making myself too cordial, but I've earned the excitement.
“Really? What were they like? What happened?” She sits on the corner of her desk, wanting to keep herself close to me to take in every detail, which I oblige.
I tell her about making the drones drink the liquid in the vials and how we locked them in a bathroom overnight. Then I recount how they burst out in a panic and how we had to track them down before I was able to explain things to them.
“That would make sense. Their system has gone into shock, and they are in survival mode.” She adjusts herself on her desk, taking a more comfortable position. “When faced with danger, a human will experience one of three reactions: fight, flight, or freeze. When we designed the drones, we blocked the neurological triggers for the flight and freeze responses so that you all would continue to fight. This catalepsy must remove those blocks along with other walls we put up.”
I know she is trying to explain things to me, but she also seems to be lecturing herself on her hypothesis. I lean in. “Will they all try to run?”
“No. Some will stay still and won't know what to do.” She walks around to her side of the desk and pulls out her tablet. “Keep me informed of any changes or anything that seems wrong as you continue to turn them.”
“I will.” I stand, insecure about asking her about my anxiety.
She looks at me and smiles. She can tell that something is bothering me. “Spit it out.”
I'm not sure what to say or how to say what I'm feeling, so I let my gut take over. “I'm afraid to lead them. I can't do it.”
“Of course you can. Look at how far you've already come.” Her tone softens. There is a warmness to it that puts me at ease. “It is okay to feel scared and to doubt yourself. It means that you care about the outcome. You care about those you are leading, and that is what makes you a great leader.”
I smile at her. Her caring nature is in direct contrast to Farouk's abrasiveness, but that is why they complement each other so well. “Thank you.”
“Listen, Farouk would not have put you in charge and risked everything if he didn't think you could do this. I have never seen him put such unwavering faith into anyone.” She smiles back at me. “Keep doing what you are doing and come back when you need more vials.”
I duck out of her office and head back to my room. Her pep talk has given me a renewed burst of energy, but my body is screaming for rest. Tomorrow 13 and I will turn two more drones.
Over the next couple of weeks, 13 and I turn a dozen more drones. The process gets easier with each subsequent pair. The drones we turn remain in the small neighborhood, keeping each other company and creating a support group. They help each other through the transition from being a slave to their preexisting programming to being free, alive, and human.
The drones have all accepted my leadership and have begun calling themselves 'Integers’—honoring the numbers we were all assigned, but realizing that we are now whole. They have also all embraced the burn scars on their necks as a unifying
