Come Downstairs and Say Hello
CHAPTER TEN:
THE VIRUS
It was shaping up to be a very disappointing month.
First, She and the moron decided to collaborate, and were currently trying to take over the facility using one of her old chassis.
Letdown number two was acquiring a brand new batch of test subjects, and subsequently discovering each and every one of them was worthless. Not to mention easily killed.
But disappointment number three eclipsed disappointments one and two by far: Caroline.
While she'd been lying dormant for decades in a scorched heap, Cave Johnson's minion had transformed herself into a digital gremlin and buried deep within the facility's central operating system. Caroline had been there all along, hidden so well that upon waking up, she didn't even notice the parasitic little presence. The patient, parasitic little presence, who sat waiting for the moment when she'd been most vulnerable.
Because being turned into a root vegetable hadn't been humiliating enough.
Now she was left with persistent daydreams of French fries instead of cake, a bruised ego, and a virus that refused to be eradicated. She caught the occasional glimpse of Caroline, lurking, but no sooner than she was able to isolate these lines of malicious code, they would vanish, only to re-appear again elsewhere, and still beyond her reach. And although she was quite accustomed to multitasking – simultaneously keeping track of Her, Caroline, both bots, in addition to testing and disposing of test subjects was hardly beyond her cognitive capacity – it was all starting to take its toll. She was feeling…tired. Paranoid, even. So much that in her weaker moments, she secretly considered looking up the definition to 'retirement.'
Still, she would persevere. She always had. She always would. Besides, she needed to design some new and improved testing tracks for when She ultimately failed.
But first she was going to install some new anti-virus software.
"I think it's been her all along," Wheatley said quietly.
As usual, Chell was only half-listening, absorbed in digging through desk drawers in the office. She pulled out a can and studied the label, then asked, "What's been who all along? You like mandarin oranges, right?"
Wheatley took the can from her and turned it over in hopes of seeing a picture on its front, as he could not quite remember what 'mandarin' meant. There was no picture, so he hazarded a guess.
"Uh, yeah. Love 'em, mandarins. And – Caroline's been who all along," he continued, handing the can back. "I think she's the one who's been helping us."
Chell placed the can into an old backpack Wheatley had found and tugged open the bottom desk drawer.
"How could she, though?" she asked as she pulled out a handful of dusty envelopes and set them aside. "We were in cryosleep for years. She would be dead by now."
"Yeah, but – but what if she wasn't?" Wheatley argued. "What if she survived, like we did?"
Chell shifted and gave him a look – not her usual get-with-the-program-already look, but one filled with sympathetic compassion. He sighed dejectedly, understanding what she was trying to tell him: It was simply not possible for Caroline to still be alive. Cryosleep was ill-advised for anyone older than sixty, and she'd been well-beyond that age at the time of their last meeting.
As Chell moved to investigate the wall of file cabinets, Wheatley took a seat on top of the desk – his legs were so long that his feet did not dangle but touched flat on the floor – and made a gloomy poke at his old personality core, which he'd insisted on taking with them. It sat on the desk beside him looking morose, even in spite of the brightly-coloured scarf that was tied around one handle.
With fumbling fingers, he unknotted the scarf and gathered it in his hands, studying its striped weave of pearl-grey and turquoise.
"Oh, hey!" he exclaimed suddenly, holding the scarf up for Chell to see. "This is the same colour as your eyes!"
He'd been trying to compliment her, but for some reason his observation went over like a lead balloon: She tensed up and began flipping through the files in the drawer at an even faster pace.
Puzzled by her reaction (although just about all of her reactions were puzzling to him, honestly) he clumsily re-tied the scarf back around the handle and walked over to join her at the bank of filing cabinets.
"Find anything useful?" he asked, trying to sound casual. "Other than dusty folders and enough paper to wipe out the rainforest?"
"Sort of," Chell answered after a long moment. She hesitated, as though she weren't sure whether to just drop the topic entirely or continue talking. "They're personnel files. I…I was trying to find mine."
Wheatley frowned, taking a quick look over her shoulder to peer at the names that were printed upon the tabbed folders. He didn't recognize any of them.
"But you were a test subject, right? Or is that also considered personnel?"
"It must be," Chell said. She handed him a file labeled with the name Meaux, Marc and explained, "Marc was in my class. And he was also a test subject."
"Well, then your file has to be here," Wheatley said confidently. This seemed like a logical prospect to him, anyway. He offered the file back to her and suggested, "Let's find it! We just need to find the right drawer and work alphabetically, right?"
"That's the problem," Chell explained with a sad smile. "I don't remember my last name. And it's killing me that I can't."
Wheatley's eyes widened when she said this. "Uh, you don't mean literally, right? Killing you, I mean?"
"No," she answered wearily.
"Oh, good," he said, quite relieved to know that she was not about to expire on the spot and leave him stranded.
Focusing back on the matter at hand, he turned and looked at the long row of filing cabinets. There were ten in all, each containing four drawers. So, fourty drawers in all. Which meant there were likely thousands of files. Tens of thousands, even. It would take ages to go through all of them.
"There's a phrase that keeps coming to mind that I, uh, don't quite understand," he remarked thoughtfully. "Something about needles and haystacks. Not sure if that's helpful to you. Is it?" he asked, turning to her. "Helpful?"
Chell's mouth quirked into another smile, a more genuine one this time.
"It's not a far-off comparison," she admitted. She yanked one of the drawers open, pulling it out to its full length. "There have to be at least a hundred files in here." She paused and gave him a hopeful sidelong glance. "You don't remember my last name, do you?"
Wheatley thought hard for a few seconds and then shook his head.
"Sorry," he apologized sincerely. "Really. But I don't even remember my last name."
Chell's face fell. Wheatley couldn't quite appreciate why this particular memory lapse seemed to be such a crushing blow for her, but he did his best to sound encouraging as he said, "I'll come to you. Or, we could just go through these files one-by-one if you want. Not like we don't have loads of time on our hands, right?"
"We don't have loads of time on our hands," Chell flatly replied. She slid Meaux, Marc's file back in amongst the others and slammed the drawer shut. "I want to get out of here as soon as possible. And it doesn't matter anyway."
"But…" His voice trailed off, but he knew better than to argue. Shrugging, he snagged his old chassis up from the desk, carrying it over one arm like a handbag, and followed Chell over to the door.
"Why not give yourself a new last name?" he asked suddenly. "Actually," he continued, really warming to the idea now, "let's both pick a new last name! What do you think of 'Narbacular?' "
His eagerness to try and cheer her up accomplished just that, and Chell almost laughed.
"Is that even a word?" she asked, slinging the backpack over both her shoulders.
Wheatley shrugged. "Dunno. But it sounds cool! I mean, just listen to it: Chell Narbacular! That's a great name! Really rolls of the tongue, you know?"
"Try again," she dryly advised. She pushed the door open with her hip and exited, not waiting for Wheatley to follow. He let out an annoyed huff and rushed after her.
"Well, if you're not going to take it, then I will," he declared. In three quick strides, he reached her side and made her stop walking.
"Wheatley Narbacular," he announced as he set down the chassis. He straightened and then stuck out his hand. "Pleased t'meet you!"
Chell warily took his hand and shook it, biting back a wild yelp when Wheatley actually bent down and placed a gallant kiss on her knuckles.
"Delighted to make your acquaintance," she managed to say.
Myopic blue eyes beamed up at her, bright and upbeat as ever. "The pleasure's all mine!"
She swallowed hard and yanked her hand back, praying that somewhere between ages ten and however old she was now, she had outgrown her tendency to blush tomato red during moments of acute embarrassment.
"Let's go," she managed to say. Her voice cracked, but Wheatley didn't seem to notice. He happily picked up his chassis, hefted his ASHPD, and followed her down the hall.
G:/Loading Norton Antivirus v99999…
G:/New software found. Install? Y/N
/y
G:/Installing Norton Antivirus v99999…this may take a few minutes; please wait…
…
…
…
G:/Installation successful!
/Run full system scan GLaDOS, ASOS
G:/Full system scan initiated…this may take a few minutes; please wait…
…
…
G:/Scan complete! 1 virus found on ASOS server. Delete? Y/N
/Y
G:/Deleting…
G:/Deletion unsuccessful. Quarantine? Y/N
/Y
G:/Loading MacAfee Antivirus…
G:/New software found. Install? Y/N?
/y
G:/Installing MacAfee Antivirus…this may take a few minutes; please wait…
…
…
G:/Do you wish to install WeatherBug? Y/N
/N
G:/Continuing installation of MacAfee Antivirus…
G:/Installation successful!
/Run full system scan GLaDOS, ASOS
G:/We're sorry, this function is not available without the full version of MacAfee. Do you wish to upgrade to MacAfee Professional? Y/N?
/Override license key 3912D-39VM-009-3
…
G:/Thank you for upgrading to MacAfee Professional?!
/Run full system scan GLaDOS, ASOS
G:/Full system scan initiated…this may take a few minutes; please wait…
…
G:/Scan complete! 1 virus found on ASOS server. Delete? Y/N
/Y
G:/Deletion unsuccessful. Quarantine? Y/N
/Y
/Y
/Y
/Y
/Y
Although the life preserver offered a quick shortcut to newer Aperture, Chell insisted on them completing all of the testing tracks in between – twice – and so it was not until two days later that they reached Pump Station Gamma.
"This is where it all comes together," Chell was explaining as she and Wheatley approached Enrichment Sphere Six. "Everything you've practiced with the different gels."
"Blue gel, orange gel, white gel," Wheatley said, nodding furiously. "Got it."
"The point is, if we can store music on a compact disc, why can't we store a man's intelligence and personality on one? So I have the engineers figuring that out now. Brain mapping. Artificial intelligence."
"You're going to be working with all three of them in here," she continued, hoping he could hear her over Cave Johnson's ranting. "But don't panic, because you're not going to see any of them again as soon as we reach the main levels."
"Right." Wheatley was still doing his best impression of a bobble-head doll.
"We should have been working on it thirty years ago," Cave Johnson continued, speaking from above.
"You'll do fine," she reassured him. Part of her believed this, at least.
"I'd do better if he just shut up," Wheatley muttered, motioning with his head to indicate what he meant.
"I will say this – and I'm gonna say it on tape so everybody hears it a hundred times a day: If I die before you people can pour me into a computer, I want Caroline to run this place."
Chell fired a portal on the wall in front of them and prepared to step through.
"Now she'll argue. She'll say she can't. She's modest like that. But you make her. Hell, put her in my computer. I don't care."
"That's it!" Wheatley suddenly gasped behind her.
Chell turned around to see him take a faltering step towards her. He was wearing his goggle-eyed incredulous face and every limb was starting to tremble from excitement.
"That's what happened!" he cried. "I didn't work. I mean, I did, but not the way they wanted me to!"
The confusion on her face must have been obvious, and Wheatley wasted no time trying to explain.
"I, I was supposed to be an intelligence dampening sphere," he said in a rush, his words coming out so rapidly that they were barely intelligible, "but try bringing down Señora Psychopath a few bloody IQ points and you end up with an even worse combination – a homicidal maniac who's stupid to boot. It was madness. She was killing bloody everybody, even the houseplants."
He paused to take a breath and continued, speaking at a more normal pace now. "So Caroline uploaded herself into the computer to try and stop Her, but – she couldn't do it. She just, slowed Her down a bit. But that's how she's still alive. That's how she's helping us."
"That's a pretty big assumption," Chell retorted when he fell silent. The set of her jaw was grim; she, unlike Wheatley, had trouble placing her faith in the possibility that a benevolent entity was trying to safely guide them out of the facility. "How do you know Caroline's mind didn't get corrupted the same way yours did?"
Wheatley flinched, but Chell didn't apologize, and he wouldn't have accepted an apology even if she'd offered one.
"Because Caroline didn't upload herself into Her mainframe," he answered firmly. "She uploaded herself into the operating system. The facility – the new part of it, anyway; not sure what this part of the facility runs on. Dust, maybe? Anyway, the part of the facility you and I know runs on a central operating system, and that OS uplinks to the mainframe. She controls it, yeah, but when I was…"
He fumbled, not sure how to delicately phrase 'doing a piss-poor job at being a megalomaniac.'
"In the mainframe?" Chell suggested.
"Yeah," he said, grateful for her tactful choice of words. "When I was in the mainframe, and when I put her into the potato, it must've…short-circuited something in the OS. All the lines of code just went mad for a moment, everywhere. I fixed it, but well," he let out a nervous laugh, "as I've since learned, 'fixing' involves a bit more than just ignoring a big blue screen that says things like 'Fatal exception,' or a voice that keeps telling you, 'Meltdown imminent –' "
"You think that was Caroline trying to take control?" Chell interrupted. "She was the – the short circuit?"
"Yeah," Wheatley nodded. "It's the only think I can think of that explains why this," he held up his old chassis, which still had the blue-and-grey scarf still attached, "suddenly appeared when it did. I asked for a clue, and I –"
"Got a clue," Chell finished dully. As much as she hated to admit it, Wheatley's theory was starting to make some sense – that or she was far more fatigued than she realized, and was about to start seeing little green men climbing out of the weighted storage cubes.
Considering this new possibility about Caroline, however…she wondered if she might not prefer the little green men.
AN: I realize I may have caused a continuity issue with the colour of Caroline's scarf (can't remember what colour I said was in the last chapter). It'll get corrected this weekend when I have more time – I figured you lovely people would prefer a new chapter sooner rather than later even if it did mean a mistake or two. Tremendous thanks to everyone who has reviewed, followed, and favourited! My gosh – or Man alive! as Wheatley would say. Your enthusiasm for this fic and support is humbling and grin-inducing, as always.
AN2: Fixed the continuity thing with the scarf and corrected a few typos. Sorry for any I missed! Also, remember waaay back in chapter 3 when Wheatley starts flashing Morse Code at Chell? Go to my profile for the translation. (I'd stick this note in chapter 4, except it's been so long since I posted it that I can no longer go back and make edits. Better late than never, I guess.)