The Code

Code

He was actually in the Code. He couldn’t believe it. No one got to be in the Code, especially not workers. Only the Mainframers got to be in the Code, and they were the ones that created it so that made sense.
Ichta was the only worker in the history of the Code that managed to get inside. The True Writer had personally invited Ichta, though for what purpose, Ichta didn’t know.
There were roughly two thousand Mainframers that lived in the Code. They varied in age from ten to ninety, and the True Writer was over one hundred. Ichta was fifteen, so he didn’t stick out age-wise, but his worker’s green uniform contrasted greatly with the pure white of the Mainframers. They were the saviors. That was what every worker was taught. Without the Mainframers, our world would be in chaos. No one would be happy, and now everyone was happy. This was what everyone was taught, and that was what Ichta believed wholeheartedly.
The Code was a very strange place to Ichta. The books were almost limitless in the countless libraries adorning the Code. A book consisted of a card-shaped and sized piece of metal with various lights and spokes upon its surface. To read them you had to plug them into a computer and access it through the hard drive. Each standard unit community that Ichta had worked in had only one book, and though it was a very large book, perhaps the size of a deck of cards, it was nothing compared to these ingenuities of creation.
Their customs were strange too. Ichta was used to people bowing upon meeting a stranger, and even a close friend occasionally. In the Code, people were greeted by exchanging new threads of data, and that was the highest compliment one could give another. These threads were in the form of rectangular computer chips that could be attached to any book. The Mainframers treated Ichta with open disdain, however, as though they thought they were infinitely better than him. Ichta did not think so. He knew so, and was humble to every person he came across.
Ichta had seen the True Writer only once, on his second week, and not directly, but he knew it was he. His long, white robes shone in the bright lights of the Code, and his long white beard was silky and smooth. He was the most regal person Ichta had ever seen. He had been bowing during the procession of the True Writer. For once, the other Mainframers had been bowing too. Then something happened that Ichta did not understand. A man had leaped in front of the True Writer. Ichta had thought he would give a highly prized piece of data, or some other courtesy. But instead he had pulled a thin metal rod out of his pocket and pointed it at the True Writer. A red-clothed guard standing next to the True Writer had run forward and pushed the offending individual to the floor. There was a tremendous sound, like a heavy object hitting a metal floor, and a computer console next to the True Writer had exploded. The man was dragged away as he shouted things about control, corruption, and freedom. Though Ichta tried to ask his Guide about the incident, he learned nothing.
The food in the Code was better than everything Ichta had ever tasted. His food back in Unit 564 consisted of protein tablets and water. It was not very filling, but Ichta knew his place. In the Code, the food was a chewy sort of delicious food that Ichta had never seen before. He delighted in it, and enjoyed breakfast, lunch, and dinner equally.
Ichta had had to travel a long distance to get to the Code, though he did not know how long. Distance was not of importance to a worker. But Ichta had seen three mountains pass him by, as well as a forest just outside the Code. Although the pod that had carried him answered whatever questions he asked of it, it seemed to avoid the question of why he had been chosen to come
Back at Unit 564, Ichta was a machinery worker. He used nuts and bolts to repair various contraptions that were constantly breaking down. Ichta liked his job. He was fond of seeing his subjects start running again after their previous lethargy, and he enjoyed lifting heavy objects like pods, and though a worker was the lowest and Mainframers the highest, he did not envy them with all their computer work.
Ichta spent his days at the Code watching the learning the way in which the Mainframers worked. His Guide, a young woman with a constantly annoyed air about her, showed him how code was created from the threads of data that each Mainframer collected. That was how the massive building got its name: the Code. Everything was directed from within the Code, from food to medicine to trade. Ichta didn’t know why so many Mainframers were needed for these tasks. He could find out nothing more on the subject.
On his third week, Ichta wasn’t sure which day, he forgot to take his daily pill for the Code to monitor his whereabouts so he wouldn’t become lost. The Guide did not show up for a long time, so Ichta set off on his own. The white, computerized walls of the Code were strangely unnerving to Ichta, and he kept to the center of the hallways as much as possible.
Ichta was glad the Guide was not with him today. The Guide’s presence often distracted Ichta from the rest of the Code, and the Mainframers seemed to dislike him being with her. The Mainframers hardly paid him any mind today, however. They only looked at him briefly, then continued in their work.

Ichta found his way to a door with a panel on one side. It looked like it was meant for someone to put his or her hand in the space. Ichta was about to try when the door slid open and a Mainframer, absorbed in his miniature computer, walked through. Ichta’s curiosity got the better of him and he walked through the door before it closed behind the Mainframer.

On the other side was a very large room. There were only three Mainframers in the entire space, and they were all part of the older percentage of Mainframers. They were typing away at their consoles, and didn’t notice Ichta.

In the center of the room was a depression in the floor. At its center there was a podium on which lay a single, very large book. Its green power light was blinking, indicating a low energy level. From its enormous size, about the size of a brick, Ichta guessed it could hold 200 times a normal, card-sized book’s capacity.
Ichta walked down a short flight of steps toward the podium. The book was tantalizingly close, and Ichta was dying to read what was in it. Suddenly a large white, metal arm descended from the ceiling. It picked up the book and took it apart, piece by piece, until the entire circuitry of the book was laid out in front of it. It then added a data card to the book and put it back together. It coiled back up into the ceiling.
Ichta picked up the book and walked to door, when he realized he had no way out. He hadn’t done anything wrong, so he called to one of the Mainframers on the computers. They looked up and saw him for the first time.
“What are you doing in here?” one of them cried. “You shouldn’t be here!”
“I was just looking around,” Ichta stated. He could hardly see what all the fuss was about. One of the Mainframers typed a rapid sequence into a computer, and the door opened. Two red guards were on the other side. They grabbed Ichta roughly by either arm, and Ichta cried out. He wasn’t used to being touched at all, and in fact the only time Ichta had been touched by another human was when he’d had a doctor’s checkup before coming to the Code. Their grasp was frightening to him, and he didn’t know what to do. The red guards, who clearly hadn’t seen the book in his hands, brought him back to his room. He heard the sliding of the three locks adorning his door, and knew he was somehow in trouble.
There was a computer console in Ichta’s room. He moved to it and plugged the book into it to read. The computer flickered to life.

The True Writer stood impassively before the Guide.
“How did this happen?” he asked shortly. The Guide hung her head.
“I am very sorry, sir.” The Guide betrayed no emotions, but inside she was incredibly distraught. This sort of thing never happened. Guests weren’t supposed to leave their rooms, they weren’t supposed to be lost from the system, and she wasn’t supposed to be blamed.
The True Writer looked severely at her. He had been the one to write the strain that was in the boy’s blood. When he was thirty-seven years old he had begun work on it. In fact, it was that strain that got him the position of True Writer. The Code would have fallen long ago had it not been for him! He did not tolerate weakness in his subordinates. To do so would be to let the world fall.
The True Writer had been born a student to the preacher of his Unit, 238. From his master he learned of the greatness of the Code. But he was not given the biased images of the rest of the world. He was told all the facts. Every betrayal, every death was met by his mind. But still he believed in the Code. He was chosen to become a Mainframer at the age of nine, for his work into the book of his Unit. It was there he truly started on his path to greatness. From the start he was superior to his peers. Anything he worked on increased its efficiency by tenfold, any machine he repaired worked three times faster. By the time he turned thirty, a formerly unheard of age, he was the True Writer’s apprentice. He himself became the True Writer when he was sixty, also unusually young.
Then the war had started with Russia. The Code, accustomed to relative peace, had seriously depleted its armies. Russia had been building its army for fifty years. Though they had little chance of winning the war, the True Writer decided that the public must be kept under control. They were therefore not informed of the war. The development of the strain he had been working on became all the more crucial. Finally, Ichta was born.
“The boy was supposed to have little curiosity and no sense of rebellion. He was to be entirely obedient! Who knows what a being of his ability could do to the Code. We are sure that he did not discover anything?” Though he was old, the True Writer had a blazing intensity in his eyes and speech. His hands were folded behind his back, but he was fully prepared to strike the Guide if she did not answer correctly.
“Of course, sir,” she intoned, bowing. She knew what the True Writer did to underlings who failed in their duties. The Code had to be powered by something. She knew that its power mainly came from the life force of Mainframers who did not complete their duties. This Writer was more powerful than Marxus, the original True Writer. Therefore, she did not say that there was a piece of data missing from stores. She did not figure that its importance was as great as it truly was. Because, for the first time in five hundred years, the Code had made a mistake. It was a small mistake, but ultimately would lead to the Code’s demise. A single robot, a model ARM-13, had been mistakenly given time coordinates for one hour earlier than it had been meant to. The mistake showed in no records, and would never have been detected were it not for the fifteen-year-old boy who happened upon the data that had been placed an hour too early. That boy’s name was Ichta.

It was impossible. It was more impossible than that. How could this be the truth?
Ichta leaned back from the console, his face gleaming with a cold sweat. The book was on the computer before him, opened to the last page. Ichta had read it all. The first four-fifths of the book related to basic records of the Code’s history, which Ichta had found vaguely interesting. Then the last fifth, the part that had been compiled by the robot arm just before Ichta picked up the book, had been horrifying.
The Code had been created five hundred years ago to combat someone named China. It unified the people of Europe and America, whatever they were, and they together conquered China. Then the Code started taking over. The original True Writer gained too much power. People started dying, a new concept to Ichta. Its meaning, however, soon became clear with the pictures Ichta saw within the book. The Code grew over every aspect of life, changing everything from the weather to people’s minds. The army of the Code killed millions of people, crushing any resistance it saw. Ghastly pictures met Ichta’s eyes, scenes of war, of murder, of betrayal. The Code formed a building, miles wide, filled with computers, to use as its base. Promising individuals became Mainframers, while the others developed in units, growing up with their thoughts under control of the Code. Every so often revolution would break out and be subsequently destroyed. The leaders would be hideously tortured until they submitted to the Code. They were used to power the Code, feeding off their life force.
Ichta heard the locks sliding back from the door. The sound of the Guide talking in whispers met his ears. Ichta looked around. There was almost nowhere to hide. He had been brought here for a far more sinister purpose than observing Mainframers. Unit 564 had been created purely for his birth. He was a prototype in a new form of soldier, designed to be completely obedient. The records showed that Ichta had been raised in Unit 564 to try to isolate the genetic code inside him for use on many more humans. The genetic code had failed, however, and Ichta had all the abilities of the soldier but the obedience had to be inserted through experience. It turned out that normal humans could not lift the front ends from pods of the ground. The other humans in Unit 564 had had machinery attached to their arms to provide what Ichta had always assumed was normal strength. It seemed war still existed in this false world of the Code.
Ichta had to get out. He grabbed the book and unplugged it as the second lock slid out. He dashed to the left of the door as the third lock slid out and the door began to open.
“Ichta? Time for your tour for today,” came the sweet sound of the Guide’s voice. Behind her were two Mainframers with hefty rifles to help in case Ichta acted rebelliously. “Take off the safeties on those guns,” she hissed at them. “There’s no telling what this kid is capable of.”
Ichta had been a machine worker his entire life and thus was strong and fit for other people his age. He also had the genetic strain that provided him the strength of ten grown men. The Guide and Mainframers had sat behind computers all their lives and were physically weak. Ichta cannoned into the Guide and threw her against the wall through his momentum before the Mainframers could move. Her head slammed against it and as she collapsed a large dent was revealed in the metal wall. He swung the book at the second Mainframer’s head and connected, sending him to the floor. A crack appeared along the book’s titanium edge. The first attempted to run, despite being armed with his rifle, but was brought down by a tackle from Ichta. The Mainframer’s head snapped against the white floor, and his broken nose threw the heavy contrast of blood across it.
The hallway was thankfully empty of people, and Ichta picked himself up and started to dash along by the computers, praying that no one would find him. A doorway at the end of the hall stopped him, and asked for a password. Ichta didn’t know any curses, but he would have sworn loudly if he did. Just as he was turning to head the other way, a thought struck him. The original True Mainframer’s name had been Marxus, according to the book. He typed it into the wall, and the door opened.
On the other side was a series of pods in their chutes. One was marked “Emergency Exit,” and was somewhat larger than the others. Ichta punched the large button on the wall that indicated power to the pod. The button fell into many pieces and his fist created a hole in the wall, but the pod doors slid open, and a voice asked if he wanted to use it. Ichta responded by leaping into the pod and throwing the steering lever forward. An alarm sounded, sprinklers came on, and the pod shot down to its predetermined destination.
After two minutes of sheer terror at the incredible speed of the pod, Ichta reached the final stopping point of the pod. The doors ahead of Ichta read “EXIT.” Ichta stepped to them and they opened unquestioningly. Beyond them lay a forest, a thin, barely discernable trail running deep into it. Ichta broke into a run. All he had was a book, his powers, clothes, and determination. The Code was going to fall.