Chapter 18 - Keep On Trying

Caroline propped her elbows against the desk and stared off with an unfocused look, unable to focus on this next test. She ran a single hand through her hair, barely noticing as a red phone rattled to life and startled her from her slight trance.

"Yes?" she said, voice flat. Whoever this was really should know she hated being interrupted during testing.

"Caroline."

For a split-second her heart flared with an impossible hope. The way her name was said sounded so much like the way Cave Johnson used to say it. After a split-second logic caught up to her, a harsh reminder that he was dead, and that she was just talking to her assistant. Not Cave.

"What?" she said. "You know I'm testing right now."

"Right!" he said, a hint of enthusiasm in his voice. "How is it?"

He always seemed so eager for science and so eager for results. Despite his shortcomings, he reminded Caroline of her in her younger years, back when her morality was a bit less questionable. In a way he was just like who she used to be. That's why she'd chosen him.

"Well, I'm getting results if that's what you're asking," she said. The schizophrenic man had definitely given her more than she excepted—especially at the conclusion of the last test. She'd admit it—she slipped up. But really, it only increased her curiosity.

How far could she push someone before they pushed back?

"Would it kill you to take the rest of the afternoon off?" he said.

"No," she said, tapping the pads of her fingers against the desk. It was a nervous motion, not an annoyed one; her hands barely made a sound as they connected with the slick desk. "I've only got a few chambers left," she said. No use hurrying through these last few —they were the most exciting, after all. "Why do you ask?"

"Oh, come on. You've got to know why," he said, edging toward teasing.

Caroline straightened in her chair, glancing into the chamber but not yet seeing her test subject. She wasn't sure what he was talking about—but she wasn't going to admit that she didn't know.

"You mean you don't know what today is?" he said.

"Hold on," she said, glancing around for a calendar or a watch or anything else that could tell her the current time and date. She'd been down at the testing track for a while, but she wasn't sure how long.

"Caroline," he said. "It's your birthday."

"Oh," she said softly, not even considering how old this made her. "Guess I just lost track of time."

"Well, you'd better get down here," said Greg. "We've been waiting for a half-hour now."

"Give me a few more minutes," she said, wrapping a finger absently around the phone cord. All he had left was two chambers—this one, and Chamber Nineteen. Granted, she wasn't sure if he'd survive Chamber Eighteen. This one was particularly difficult—and though Caroline could still easily solve the test on paper, the chamber itself was particularly deadly.

"If you don't hurry up and get down here they're going to eat it all," said Greg. "I told them to wait, but someone's already cut the cake."

Her finger throbbed as she twisted the cord tighter. "I'll be right there," she said. "Save me a slice." That was all she really needed—one delicious slice. Then, back to testing.

She clicked the phone back into the receiver and saw Doug make his way into the chamber.

"Well, that's it for me," she said, leaning over to click on the speaker. "I've got a birthday party to go to. Have fun completing this test. And good luck," she said softly.

But Doug didn't respond, and instead inspected the chamber in front of him. After that elevator ride it seemed like he'd shrunk back to his normal attitude. Good. She wouldn't stand for him to continue challenging her like that—no, that wouldn't do at all.

She'd have to hurry with her birthday—this was her favorite chamber to watch, and test subjects rarely made it this far. In fact, no one that she knew of had ever made it to her final chamber.

But perhaps he'd even make it to the final challenge. Seeing him turn the corner and see that fire—she wouldn't miss it for the world.

At the same time, she wasn't about to miss out on her favorite day of the year.

She gave the test chamber a lingering look and gently closed the door, glad for this break. After the emotion-ridden and exhausting events of these past few days, seeing everyone let loose and have fun was just what she needed.

And even though Aperture Science was a serious company, her employees should be allowed to have fun occasionally. Seeing everyone bright and smiling made her genuinely happy. That was the best part about celebrating her birthday.

And oh, did they have fun.

Over the years this day became the perfect excuse to pull off ridiculous stunts. One time—after one of the lab boys screwed up on an order and landed them with an abundance of foam—they'd chopped it into blocks and crafted a massive foam pit.

Cave had jokingly pushed her into it, not knowing that the more she flailed her arms the further she would sink—like quicksand. Eventually he had to leap in after her and dragged her out like a lifeguard.

Caroline only glared at him and shoved him into the pit. He'd only laughed. At the time she hadn't been amused, but looking back it had been funny.

She quickened her pace as she oriented herself with the back areas of her wing. This wasn't the usual path she took to get around—but these areas gradually became more familiar the farther she walked.

Her mind drifted back to another birthday. They'd painted a strip of floor with propulsion gel, then took turns rolling bowling balls towards pyramids of empty storage cubes. A pain to set up and a pain to clean up, but watching those bowling balls zip across the room at triple their normal speed had made everyone laugh.

That wasn't quite as fun as the marshmallow guns, though.

That year she'd entered one of the largest offices in Aperture and had fully expected to find a typical table with paper plates and plastic cups and store-bought cakes. Instead, she found flipped over tables and hastily-constructed hideouts.

The entire company split into teams, and they spent the afternoon in an all-out marshmallow gun war.

With each successful 'hit' the teams dwindled to a handful of members a piece. Caroline herself lead one, and Cave Johnson the other. And of course he'd considered the battle against her team already won. They'd celebrated a bit too early—exuding confidence and talking just loud enough to leave Caroline's team a perfect opportunity. They took down the rest of his team in one fell swoop, showering them in a stream of white pellets.

She wore a smug grin for the rest of the week.

In the months following, Caroline found marshmallows wedged behind filing cabinets and flattened between stacks of papers. More than once she scraped away crusted marshmallow with her fingernail before handing in a paper.

Entirely worth it, of course.

Still, the employees couldn't have too much fun on the job. Science was serious, and if this company ever wanted a shot at becoming the number one applied science company in the country, she had to run a tight ship.

A few times a year, though, she let them have some fun. Those kinds of days proved to be some of the best at Aperture.

She moved through the halls and into the main areas of Aperture. Not only did she want to hurry and get back to testing, but she also couldn't wait to see what sort of antics they'd come up with for her birthday.

Well, it was sure to be a surprise.


Laughter and loud voices drifted through the hallway as she approached. She hadn't passed anyone on her way here, so most of Aperture's employees—if not all— must've decided to participate in this year's birthday party.

Her expression shifted into a slight smile as she twisted the door handle and stepped in.

Tweee.

A party horn wheezed. Bright party hats reflected back light. Caroline wasn't sure where they'd gotten those things—they were a waste of money, really.

"There she is!"

The voice shouted from the far side of the room, and Caroline twisted to see her assistant waving a hand.

Of course it would be him.

An uneasy silence fell over the crowd, the same sort of abrupt halt in conversation as if she'd just walked into a conversation about herself. Her smile drooped as she glanced across the room full of people.

"What took you so long?" said Greg, motioning her over to a table. Paper plates and plastic cutlery sat alongside half-eaten cakes, along with a dwindling stack of generic napkins and a stack of party hats.

She moved straight for the cake, scooping and plopping a slice of black forest cake onto her plate. Oh, she couldn't wait to sit down and take a bite—she'd been looking forward to this for days.

She breathed a sigh of relief as murmurs of conversation returned to the room. It was so good to hear people discuss anything other than Aperture Science for once.

This was much better than that pointed, guilty silence—as if they were hiding something from her. But as she moved from the fold-up table to one of the circular tables dotting the room, someone snuck up behind her and stuck one of those ridiculous party hats on her head.

Glittering strands of silver streamed from the cone's tip, shimmering ends clinging to her dry hair from static electricity. All she needed to do was eat her cake in peace and then get out of here—after seeing what brilliant yet pointless idea the employees came up with, of course. Caroline slipped into a chair at an empty table near the front of the room. But as she jabbed her fork into the tip of the cake, the room took a collective breath and burst into a round of 'Happy Birthday'.

Her expression sunk further into a neutral expression. It was a nice gesture, it really was. She didn't mind the attention at all, but the singing… she couldn't stand their awful voices. And yet every so often some idiot decided it would be a good idea to sing that song.

Caroling begrudgingly left her party hat on as the song dragged on. It'd be rude to yank it off now, in front of everyone—but as soon as an opportunity presented itself, that hat was coming off. For now, she slipped the bite of cake into her mouth.

Ah. She'd forgotten how much she loved cake. Perhaps she should reconsider banning birthday celebrations—it might be nice to have these more often.

The song ended.

Caroline gave a forced smile before taking another bite of cake, not noticing a group standing to the side of the room. Arms crossed and faces serious, none of them held any cake or wore any silly party hats. If she'd seen them, she would've felt annoyed—if she could relax and enjoy herself for an hour, they should do it as well.

That group edged their way onto a slightly raised, platform-like area at the front of the room. One man moved forward and cleared his throat.

"Hey!" he said, waving an arm and struggling to make his voice heard over the dull roar of conversation.

Caroline glanced up and recognized the man: Henry. He currently acted as the head scientist for that awful GLaDOS project—and while she'd managed to make them run in circles around the truth, the progress they'd made despite that was impressive. With her prompting, they managed to construct a completely artificial intelligence—a truly self-aware robot.

Of course she'd encouraged this idea and pushed for them to continue. If they kept at it—and developed more complex personalities and human-like attributes—they could one day create a complex robot capable of helping her run this facility.

If she played her cards right, they wouldn't need to use her mind at all.

"Everyone," he said, raising his voice. "Before you go, I've got something to say!"

She glanced at him and waited for him to continue. He wasn't a particularly energetic person in general—and he wasn't even eating any cake—so she wasn't sure what he had to say that was important enough to halt her cake-eating. Perhaps a snarky comment to send the audience roaring with laughter. A joke at her expense, no doubt.

The audience quieted. Henry cleared his throat. "As we all know, today is Caroline's birthday."

Murmurs of agreement rippled through the room.

"While we're all here—in one place—there's something I need to talk about," he said. Caroline lifted her fork to take another bite. He'd get to his point soon enough. No point in stopping eating for one little speech.

"As we all know, certain sacrifices have to be made to keep a place this huge running. We all want to keep our jobs here, after all." He gave a slight, nervous laugh. "Sometimes that's not an easy thing to do. And for that, we really do have the upmost respect for you, Caroline," he said, turning to her. "You've really brought Aperture out of the pits," he said, motioning toward the levels and levels of the facility beneath them.

Caroline relaxed as she heard a few small laughs from behind her.

"So here's to you," he said. "Happy Birthday, Caroline." The crowd erupted into bursts of applause. Caroline smiled and glanced away.

She had done all of that—and for once, it felt fantastic to be recognized for her contributions to this place. For so long her work had been either overlooked or dismissed or accredited to Cave or whatever scientist happened to be nearby and willing to take credit for something she'd done.

"Still, a place like this has no shortage of secrets, and there's one that all of you should know about," said Henry.

When he'd started, she hadn't expected the conversation to go like this at all—and she didn't know what he would say next. She wasn't sure what, exactly, this was about, but she might as well get it over with and get back to work.

She beckoned him to go on.

He gave a heavy sigh.

If this was about her partnership with Black Mesa—well, she'd been meaning to tell them anyways. Henry explaining that would make things much simpler for her. Though she'd rather hide it altogether, she knew they'd understand once she explained how it had been her only choice to keep this place alive.

"You might've noticed that little personality sphere running along the rails and getting lost. We're the ones who built him. Sorry for any problems he's caused. He was just an experiment, you could say," he said, then gave a small laugh. "Most of you know this project I'm working on has its fair share of mystery about it. When I first got recruited as project lead, all I knew was that our goal was to build a computer system capable of one day running Aperture."

Caroline shifted in her seat.

She didn't like where this conversation was going. Not one bit at all.

"Even though other teams worked on this before, huge amounts of their work disappeared following their firing. We had to start from scratch," he said with a slight swallow. "Now I know why."

Caroline shifted from a cross-legged position and planted both feet in the ground. For once, she was glad she sat near the front of the room. "Whatever this is about, you and I can work it out. Someplace else," she said, well within the man's range of hearing.

The crowd hushed at her words—unlike Henry, she didn't need to shout to capture the room's attention.

Instead, Henry pulled down a projector screen. A co-worker flipped it on. "Now here," he said, "I've discovered the original plan for this project, outlined by Cave Johnson himself before his passing. I present to you: Tier 3."

The screen flickered to life and showed an outdated login screen—plain and simple compared to Aperture's more modern and advanced computer systems.

Oh no.

Caroline's stomach dropped.

How had he found that?

Though Cave had announced his intentions to half of the facility—and created a team to start working on the project right away—she'd scoured the systems and deleted each and every trace of those awful plans. Especially the details about her part in that project.

She couldn't cancel the project altogether, but she did do a good amount of firing. Whenever a team pushed her too far—or whenever they came to the conclusion that they'd need a human consciousness for the GLaDOS project—she fired them on the spot.

Right there. No questions asked. One team gone, and a new one to replace them. She would've made Cave proud with that rapid-firing.

Henry was bluffing.

He had to be—there was no other explanation.

"Stop right there," she said, chair squeaking as she rose to her feet. "Listen to me. I'm not sure where you found that, but I've never seen this before. Leave it alone and get yourself another slice of cake. We'll work this out later. Like regular people," she said.

Soft murmurs came from the crowd. Caroline felt all eyes on her.

He glanced up as if considering her offer, and then spoke a half-second later. "I don't think I will," he said.

Click.

A long text document opened on the screen.

The way it was written—a large block of words that shifted into capslock halfway through—made it immediately clear as to who wrote that document.

Cave Johnson had never been good with technology—his mind worked in a more theoretical, conceptual way. While he could imagine and throw out ideas for computers, actually using one was another problem altogether. Despite his false bravado, he could never wrap his mind around the finer points of computer usage.

"It's taken ten years for this project to develop a DOS system capable of handling an Artificial Intelligence. And I won't make you read the entire document, but this right here says we've been wasting our time. It's pointless," he said. "And that was never the plan at all, and Caroline's been hiding this from us the entire time. According to the CEO of Aperture—"

"Former CEO," Caroline hissed, her comment beginning to get lost amongst the growing dissent.

"This project—which hasn't had a name as long as I've worked on it—is apparently called the GLaDOS project. Know what that stands for?" he said, pulling up another file.

"That's not important," said Caroline. "None of that is."

"Genetic Lifeform and Disc Operating System," he said flatly.

"Stop this now," she said, voice lost among other voices.

"File after file talks about how Caroline here is supposed to run the place after Cave Johnson's death," he said. "We don't need an artificial intelligence at all. The person we need for this project has been standing in front of us for years. It couldn't be clearer."

"And what makes you think I'll just let you upload me into a computer?" said Caroline, taking a few dangerous steps forward.

"You don't have a choice," said Henry. A scan of a document littered with signatures popped onto the screen. "See this here? You signed it. It says as soon as the technology's developed, you're legally bound to go into that computer."

"Hold on," said Caroline. She took another few steps forward. People scooted their chairs to get out of her way. "You can't do this," she said, voice wavering. "We don't even have that technology yet! Much less what sort of dangers a procedure like that might entail."

"Well," he said, mouth twitching slightly. "As that boss you loved so much always said, why don't you marry safe science if you love it so much?"

Caroline's gaze narrowed.

Now, this was personal. Just her and Henry going back and forth, with the room held captive to the unfolding events.

She took another step. How dare he take something she'd heard—and said herself—countless times and flip it back on her.

"If we waited until everything was perfected and accident-free, we'd never make progress. You know that better than anyone," said Henry.

"You'd better forget about all of this," said Caroline. "I don't know where you found that outdated information, but I can assure you that it's irrelevant now that I'm in charge of this facility."

Instead of backing down, Henry continued gesturing at the screen. "These are the last wishes of Cave Johnson, and he explicitly says you're going into that computer whether you like it or not," he said, jabbing a finger at her.

"You're really going to listen to a man who's been dead for ten years over me?" she said, voice cold.

"Of course I am," he said. "He's the one that founded this place and ran it for forty years—not you."

"Excuse me?" Caroline hissed, edging her way past the last of the tables and into the front of the room. People shifted in their seats, but no one got up to leave.

"You heard me," said Henry. He folded his arms. "He said it himself thousands of times. You might've helped here and there, but he's the one that really ran this place."

Caroline fumed.

Her entire posture shifted into attack mode, and a few strands of gray hair drifted into her face.

"Oh, I don't think you understand how Aperture works at all," she said, voice low. "He might've been the larger-than-life figure—the personality—behind Aperture, but he didn't know a damn about actually running a company," she said, still fuming.

"You know how he thought things worked? He'd just throw out an idea. And then he'd expect everyone around him to stop whatever they were working on and focus on his ideas—even though they were some of the most moronic ideas I've ever heard. But to him they were brilliant. The rest of us were in no place to tell him otherwise," she said.

Memories of experiments gone wrong, like merging mantis DNA with humans, or attempting to turn blood into oil, or countless other poorly-thought-out ideas flashed through her mind.

"And who do you think got stuck with making those idiotic plans work?" she said. "I'm the one who spent hour upon hour doing paperwork—well into the night, usually. I'm the one who orchestrated all the testing. I know better than all of you how to make someone disappear —because that's what happens to test subjects. They die. And unless we want another outrage on our hands like we did in the sixties," she hissed. "Someone had to cover those tracks. And unless you want to become one of those disappeared subjects, I'd suggest you stop this right now," she said, moving uncomfortably close to the man.

He took a step back and glanced at the audience for help. While most remained indifferent, some looked around with unease. Apparently not everyone was well-informed about Aperture's gray morality. Some people—though few and far between—had actual, normal jobs here.

"Was that a threat?" he said.

Caroline gave him another steely look. "Absolutely," she said flatly.

"You know, that's exactly why we're talking in front of all of these people. If I disappear, they'll all know why."

He swept an arm toward the audience.

"And you're right," he said. "You did run Aperture Science this entire time. I just needed you to admit it. After all, it's only natural that someone who's ran Aperture since the beginning to continue running it from this computer," he said. "Everyone else is unqualified."

"I've done a good enough job with this place by myself," said Caroline. "Alive. Not from a computer. And I promise you I am not doing this." She jabbed a finger at him.

She gave him such a cold and heartless look, as if all of her frustration and anger from this past week had solidified into one glance. For a split-second, Henry was rendered silent.

"The files warned me you might try something like this," he said. "But now everyone knows. There's no way out of this one, Caroline."

Her look swept across the crowd. There were far more people sitting here than she'd initially thought, and the room suddenly shifted into feeling overwhelmingly cramped, as if she couldn't breathe and as if she needed to get out of here.

"Let's get you over to the project, and we'll discuss this more. Privately," he said, mirroring her earlier words. His voice hinted at a slightly triumphant tone—he knew he'd won this.

After revealing Tier 3 in front of so many people, she couldn't worm her way out of this.

"Come on," he said, reaching out to grab her arm.

Caroline whipped her arm away, twisting and leaving Henry to grasp at empty air. "Get your hands off me," she hissed, backpedaling and bumping into a table. Plastic cups jiggled; an empty one tipped and rolled. Caroline sidestepped and turned.

A few of Henry's team hovered by the side doors, but the farthest exit remained open. These were people truly dedicated to science—people she knew and respected—and before she could say another word, they headed straight for her.

Panic flared through her.

Did they think they could just grab her and drag her, kicking and screaming, to some experimental lab?

Oh, she would never let that happen.

She bolted into the suddenly difficult and less-willing-to-move audience, whispering "Excuse me," as she pushed her way towards the door.

"Caroline!" said Henry. "Wait!"

As if she'd listen to him.

She broke free from the crowd and threw open the door, giving a last backward glance before slamming it behind her.


Step step step step.

Her steps clipped in time with her racing heartbeat as she took off down the hallway. Air rushed beneath her unsecured party hat, flipping it into the air. It drifted down and onto its side, gently rolling on the walkway. The next person to speed through would no doubt crush it.

She wasn't running away.

Well, technically she was.

But Caroline just needed a moment to regain her composure. Then, she could figure out a way to convince everyone that the GLaDOS project was a terrible and awful idea. To do that she needed a safe, tucked-away refuge.

Her wing.

Her heart thumped—it'd be perfect. Though no one had yet chased after her, she knew people would come looking for her after a display like that. But not many people at all knew about her private wing.

She took another sharp turn and took off in that direction.

Caroline's breaths heaved and her heart pounded even as she slowed from a sprint to a jog. If they sent one of those younger scientists after her, she'd have no chance at all at outrunning them.

She wasn't as young as she used to be. And she couldn't run forever.

Adrenalin pumped in and fueled her forward, but her heart felt as if it would give out at any moment. Another emotion surged through her—even more prominent than the urge to get away.

She didn't place it at first—a sickening, stomach-twisting feeling foreign to her.

Fear.

Though perhaps not always happy, Caroline had always felt in control in Aperture.

She spent more time at work than she did outside of work. She'd worked here for decades, and Caroline was far more comfortable with her facility than any single person inside of it—save for Cave, but she wasn't sure if he counted.

But for the first time in her countless years at Aperture, she'd never encountered this feeling before.

Caroline felt scared.


She heaved a sigh of relief as she twisted open the entrance to her wing. She'd be relatively safe here. Well, until they roped her assistant into the search. He knew her like the back of her hand—if anyone would find her, it would be him.

She needed a new place to hide.

If she'd learned anything from Doug Rattmann, it was that there were plenty of alcoves and tucked-away nooks back here. They'd make a perfect hiding spot, as long as she could find them.

Caroline slowed to a walk as she moved into the maintenance areas beside the testing track. At least now she only felt as if she'd pass out at any moment rather than feeling like her heart would fail. Honestly, she wasn't sure which was worse.

At least she'd feel better soon—after she got out of sight.

She moved through the areas at a slower pace. Hiding too close to the entrance was a bad idea—but at the same time, she needed to hurry up and find a spot. After turning another corner, an opened air duct caught her eye.

The slated metal cover sat propped against the wall, as if someone simply forgot to put it into place. Well, that wouldn't surprise her. A small detail like this could've been easily overlooked during construction.

Perfect.

Caroline hefted herself into the duct with a soft "ooof." This place, though cramped, would be the perfect spot to hide for a few minutes. She could take an hour to get herself together—and once she caught her breath, she'd go out there and remind them who the real boss of the company was.

Wait—the grate.

Caroline reached out of the duct and hoisted up the grate. Though it was meant to sit at the end of the duct, only her latched fingers secured it in place. If she let go, it'd clatter back to the ground.

If that happened, so much for staying hidden.

Though her vision spun, she locked her hands in place and pressed her face near the slats to see out and into the room. She'd rather look than sit there and listen in terror. Claustrophobia crept into the cramped metal space.

Her breathing took a long time to steady, and for a long time she listened to the blood pumping and hissing in her ears.

She didn't hear the soft, occasional snore drift over from farther back in the vent.


A/N: I've been looking forward to this chapter for a while now, and am rather proud of it. Also, classes start up again for me in about a week, so updates might be a bit slower.

And you could probably tell, but this chapter's inspired by this line in Still Alive:

"But there's no sense crying over every mistake

You just keep on trying 'till you run out of cake."

See? The cake thing did come into play, like I promised.