Paradigm (20 page)

“What’s your name, boy?”

“Sam.”

“And your parents?”

Sam hesitated before he spoke. If he just kept answering their questions he’d end up leaving the room no wiser than when he came in.

“None of your business,” he said, finally.

Dr. Matheson glared at him, then stood up and stalked around the table, looming over Sam in a way calculated to inspire awe. Sam stared back.

“He’s got the eyes,” said Matheson. “But that could be a coincidence. What made you go after him, Wilson?”

“That Bast woman had him. Word is he can hear the plex.”

“Already?” Matheson was clearly surprised, but more than a little skeptical. “Or is he hearing something else? Did you run the standard tests, Madge?”

“Not yet,” admitted Robinson. “But there’s something else. One of the Rovers told me he got away when they were about half-way here. They caught him pretty easily, but not before he created an EMP.”

“An electro-magnetic pulse?”

“Took out one of their trucks. Totally fried, apparently. They had to leave it at the side of the road.”

“Well, well, well,” muttered Matheson, looking at Sam with new-found interest.

Sam glared at him as he returned to his seat.

“So, Sam…” he began.

“I’m not going to answer any more of your questions until you answer some of mine.”

The white coats all turned and looked at Matheson.

“That seems fair,” he said, his voice oily with condescension. “ First question.”

“Who are you? I mean, I know I’m at Hermes Industries Research, but who are
you
?”

“I’m Dr. Matheson, president and CEO of HIR. To my left are Drs. Wilson, Jones, Patel and Farraday. To my right—”

“Vostok, Prior, Chen and Draper,” muttered Sam.

“Excuse me?”

Sam was just as surprised as Matheson. He’d heard the names so many times before his mother died, but was sure he’d forgotten them. Yet as soon as Matheson began his introduction, the oft-repeated litany sprang back to his tongue. Matheson, Jones, Patel, Farraday, Vostok, Prior, Chen and Draper. They were the names his mother had taught him. The names he’d recited in cheap motel rooms and by shimmering campfires. The names of the people who had created the Paradigm Device. Yet some of them seemed to be in their mid-twenties, far too young to have known his parents.

“Say that again,” ordered Matheson, glaring across the table at Sam.

“Vostok, Prior, Chen and Draper.”

The panelists glanced at each other, their faces surprised and concerned.

“How do you know our names?” demanded Draper.

Sam shrugged.

The scientists whispered to each other urgently. Sam felt kind of pleased to have caused such consternation. He cleared his throat loudly and everyone looked up.

“So you’re all doctors?” he said.

“Correct,” said Chen.

“I don’t believe you.”

“That’s your prerogative,” said Matheson, shrugging. “But all senior staff at HIR are required to have doctorates. That’s the way it’s always been.”

“Right. Okay, so I can maybe buy some of the older ones, but most of you are way too young to be doctors. The last of the universities closed over thirty years ago.”

“The title is hereditary,” said Dr. Prior.

The other doctors nodded sagely.

“No it isn’t,” said Sam. “It’s earned. You study.”

“And who told you that?” asked the older lady, Dr. Patel.

“My father.”

“Yes, which rather neatly returns us to
my
question,” said Matheson. “How do you know our names?”

“My mother taught them to me,” said Sam. “She said it was important.”

“And who are your parents?”

“Were. They’re dead. Elkanah Brooks and Marian Cooper.”

“But…that’s not possible,” Dr. Robinson moved in front of Sam and gazed into his face as if looking for some sort of sign. “Their baby died. That was why they left. It was one of the first to go sour.”

“Go sour?” It was taking all Sam’s self control to stay in the chair. “What were you people doing?”

“I don’t feel right about this,” said Patel, ignoring Sam entirely and speaking to Matheson. “I mean it’s one thing when they’re already pretty gone, but this one seems fine.”

“All the more reason,” said Matheson.

“I’m with Dr. Patel on this,” said Vostok, rubbing at his small grey beard. “This isn’t what the program’s for.”

“What program?” asked Sam, trying to keep his voice calm even as panic was starting to slowly engulf him.

“It’s
exactly
what the program is for,” insisted Matheson. “You think it was devised for the idiots? Its entire purpose was to prevent this precise scenario.”

“I still don’t see how it can be Elkanah’s child,” said Robinson. “It died. I did the autopsy myself. Marian was there. She was very upset.”

“I’m sure she was, but my guess would be that they had twins. Is that right, boy?”

Sam shrugged. His parents had never mentioned a twin, but now that he thought about it, it made perfect sense. There had always been something melancholy about his mother, a sadness that he had never understood, but he wasn’t about to discuss it with Matheson.

“And why did she teach you our names?”

“No idea,” lied Sam. “Maybe she thought I should stay out of your way.”

“Didn’t work too well, then, did it?” said Dr. Prior with a smirk.

“I have another question,” said Sam, ignoring him.

“Yes?” said Matheson, clearly tiring of humoring him.

“HIR created Mutha, correct?”

“Yes,” said Vostok. “For the space program.”

“Right. My dad told me that was why it was placed in hyperspace—so that communication would be instant even over vast distances.”

“That is correct.”

“Okay. So if you created it, why don’t you use it? Practically everyone on the planet is totally dependent on it, but you don’t have so much as a thermostat controlled by the plex.”

The board glanced at each other uncomfortably again, but Matheson just smiled slightly.

“And you know this…how?”

“I’m observant, that’s all. There aren’t any muthascreens here.”

“There’s a flaw in your logic,” said Matheson. “You came up from the clinic and through ninth floor reception. Perhaps you didn’t see any muthascreens because we don’t have any on that route.”

Sam shrugged again.

“Or perhaps there’s another reason and the information from our contact at DETH, Inc. was correct. You
can
hear the plex.”

“No, that’s not—”

“I rest my case,” said Matheson. “All those in favor of surgery?”

Everyone’s hand went up.

“Um…I was thinking…” Dr. Robinson stepped forward. “If we were careful, if you did the surgery yourself, doctor…perhaps he could be a theta. It seems such a waste otherwise.”

“You flatter me, doctor. I’ll certainly give it a try.”

“What surgery?”

Sam suspected he knew, but he had to hear it from their mouths, because there was still a part of him that couldn’t believe it. Couldn’t believe that anyone could be so cavalier about such a thing. But then these were the sort of people who could leave a young girl to sleep on a cold stone floor.

“We’re going to remove a bit of your brain, dear,” said Dr. Robinson gently, as if she were talking about dinner or the weather. “You’ll feel so much better afterwards.”

She smiled and patted Sam on the shoulder as if this was a positive outcome. He wanted to say something, to convince them to let him go, but suddenly the words wouldn’t come, and his carefully maintained veneer of bravado was smothered by the realization of the inevitability of the doctors’ plans. He had never felt so helpless.

“Well, if that’s all I’d better get back to my office.” Matheson stood and smiled at his colleagues. “I’ve got stacks of paperwork and a conference call with head office at three.”

He marched out, leaving the rest of the board chatting amongst themselves, or gathering their papers and scurrying out of the room. One man smiled and made his way over to Dr. Robinson. He looked like he was in his forties, but his face was smooth and round like a child and his lips perpetually wet. There was something about him that made Sam recoil inside, as if he’d just found something unpleasant under a rock.

“Well, well, Robinson, so this is little Bethany, is it?”

“Yes, Dr. Wilson,” said Robinson proudly. “I thought you’d like to see how she’s coming along.”

Bethany smiled, delighted at being the center of attention.

“And how old are you, my dear?” asked Wilson.

“I’m not sure,” said Bethany. “I’m not very good at counting, I’m afraid.”

“Of course you’re not. And why should you be? There are lots of people who can count, but not many as pretty as you.”

Bethany’s delight was almost palpable.

“She’s eleven,” said Robinson.

“So almost ready, then? Splendid, splendid. Well, keep up the good work!”

He sauntered out of the room, humming to himself, as Bethany preened and twirled.

“He said I was pretty!”

“So you are. Now come on, let’s get Sam back to the clinic.”

Chapter 20

S
am didn’t say anything
on the way back. He didn’t even notice the grinding and scraping of the elevator, or the click as Dr. Robinson unlocked the cuffs, and he was only vaguely aware of getting up out of the chair and sitting on the bed.

But he didn’t hear the key turning in the lock at all.

Or the receding echo of Dr. Robinson’s footsteps.

He wanted to think.

He needed to think.

He had to find a way out of this, but it was like his brain was frozen in an endless loop of the few minutes in front of the board.

He got up and had a shower. That felt better. The warm water seemed to ease him out of his stupor and get his gears going again. The answer was obvious, of course—he had to run. Robinson was no spring chicken so it should be an easy matter to overpower her and get out of the room. He’d just take her keys and go…somewhere.

Up.

Up to the ground floor and out.

And he’d take Bethany with him.

He got dressed and paced around the room, waiting for her to arrive with his lunch so he could explain. He had a feeling she might not want to go, but he couldn’t leave her. The sleeping on the floor in the basement was bad enough, but the leering face of Dr. Wilson in the board room had made it all too clear what they had in mind for her future.

An hour passed. Then another. Still no Bethany. Just as he had given up, he heard the key in the lock and spun around, smiling, but instead of the girl it was Robinson.

“Sorry I’m late!” she said cheerily, handing him the bowl with his food. “So many arrangements to make. It’s been a while since we’ve done this.”

“I don’t understand why you’re doing it now,” said Sam. “There’s nothing wrong with me.”

“Not yet.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? Why can’t you just let me go?”

“Sam, I understand it’s hard. But you must try to grasp the fact that sometimes individuals must make sacrifices for the greater good.”

“Like those boys out there? Were they sacrificed too? Is that how I’m going to end up—drooling in a corner?”

“Ah. I thought you’d been there. They were very agitated when I fed them.”

“Fed them? They’re not animals! They’re boys!”

“Not really,” said Dr. Robinson quietly. “Not any more.”

She sighed, shook her head and sank onto the bed.

“It was awful,” she muttered. “Awful. The first one in particular. We were so hopeful, you see. So sure it would work. It should’ve worked, it really should.”

“What should’ve worked? What are you trying to do?”

“I think it’s because we just don’t have the skills any more. As you pointed out, none of us has been to any kind of medical school or university. Our parents taught us everything we know.”

“Right. And I’m guessing their parents taught them?”

“Yes. It’s not really a very good way to pass on knowledge.”

“Not very good?” Sam couldn’t believe his ears. “You’re all trying to perform brain surgery with knowledge you gleaned from an intergenerational game of ‘telephone!’ It’s not the boys who are mentally defective, it’s you!”

It was the wrong thing to say. Dr. Robinson glared at him and stood up.

“These are hard times, Sam. At least we’re working for the greater good, which is more than you can say for most people. I’ll leave you to your lunch. There won’t be any dinner. Dr. Matheson and I will come by later to prep you for the procedure.”

“No.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I said no. I’m not going to let you do it.”

“Well, I’m sorry you feel that way, but—”

“I’m taller than you and probably a lot stronger, so you can make this easy or hard.”

“I don’t understand…”

“Keys,” Sam held out his hand.

Dr. Robinson stepped backwards, glanced at the door, and made a run for it. Sam strode around her and slammed it shut.

“My parents taught me that violence should only be a last resort, but you’d better believe that I will knock you into the middle of next week if you don’t hand over the keys.”

“This isn’t going to work,” she said, trying to sound confident. “Someone will be here any minute.”

“No they won’t. This room is shielded, that’s why you put me in it. So I wouldn’t hear the boys.”

“You can hear the Sams?”

“Yes. Keys.”

Dr. Robinson reached into her pocket with a shaking hand and gave him her keys.

“Sam, don’t do this. We can help you.”

“By slicing into my brain? I don’t think so.”

He opened the door, stepped out and locked it behind him. He had no idea how long it would be before Robinson was missed, so he had to move fast.

“Bethany?”

“Sam!” she stepped out of the shadows, her blanket around her shoulders. “She wouldn’t let me bring you your lunch. I wanted to, but she said no.”

“I know. Listen, Bethany, I’m going and I want you to come with me.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Yes, you can. Take my hand, come on.”

“No,” she said, backing away. “I belong here. Dr. Robinson looks after me. She said that I’ll get my own room soon.”

“She’s lying to you, Bethany. Good people don’t make children sleep on the floor. There’s not much time. Please. Take my hand.”

“She won’t go. Trust me, I’ve tried.”

Sam spun around. The owner of the voice was tall and blond with the kind of face that looked like it smiled easily. He was wearing fatigues and carrying a small backpack.

“Rob!” squealed Bethany, dropping her blanket and running into his arms.

“Hey, sweetie,” said the stranger, picking her up and swinging her around. “How’s tricks?”

“Did you bring me presents?”

“Sure did. Here.”

He handed her the backpack, which she swiftly emptied onto the desk, her eyes sparkling as if it were Christmas morning. Sam eyed the newcomer suspiciously.

“And you are…?”

“Rob.”

“You’re the one Bethany sent for.”

“Yeah. I keep an eye on her.”

“Why don’t you get her out of here?”

“Because she won’t go. Young kids can make a hell of a lot of noise if you try to make them do something they don’t want to. What’s your deal?”

“I’m Sam. I need to get out of here.”

“Sam, eh? Unlucky name. How were you planning on getting out?”

Sam held up Robinson’s keys.

“Where’s the doctor?”

“Locked in there,” said Sam, nodding towards his room.

“Good move,” said Rob. “I don’t recommend using the keys, though. The reception lobby is always crawling with people and some of the thetas can be a tad overenthusiastic. They make the bigger ones security guards.”

“Can you help him, Rob? He doesn’t like it here,” said       Bethany, pulling a pink wool hat onto her head.

“Sure. Why not?”

Sam walked over to Bethany. He wanted to say goodbye and let her know how much he liked her and wanted her to come with them, but she was too engrossed in her gifts.

“Bethany…”

“Oh, look! There’s a pair of gloves! I’ll be able to wear them at night, won’t that be nice?”

“Yes, but…”

“Just say goodbye, Sam,” said Rob. “She’s happy here. They all are.”

Sam whispered a farewell and Bethany turned and beamed for a moment before returning to the task at hand.

“Okay,” he said. “Let’s go.”

“Right. Bye, Bethy! See you soon! Make sure you hide the bag.”

Bethany nodded and started stuffing everything back into the bag as Rob led the way down the hall to the stairwell door. Once he and Sam were through he locked the door and led the way down, deep beneath the building to a dark utility room.

“Stay close,” he whispered, turning on a flashlight. “They don’t usually come down here, but there’s always a first time.”

They edged past a couple of huge boilers and knots of pipes that loomed over them like the webs of gigantic spiders, then through a second room and over to a wall with a large grid set into it. Rob eased it out and ushered Sam in.

“I think it used to be some kind of utility tunnel,” he explained. “It’s blocked off now, probably happened during the big one. We dug into it a few years back. Very handy.”

“The big one?”

“Earthquake. In ’34, I think. Pretty much flattened the whole city.”

The tunnel was narrow, but high enough for them to stand. Rob marched along it with the confidence of someone who’s done the same thing a thousand times.

“So who are you?” asked Sam.

“I was born here,” said Rob. “Well, not here. Up there.”

“In Hermes? And you left?”

“Damn straight. Too many rules, too many secrets.”

“Like the Sams?”

“Can you believe they did that? Chopping kids’ brains up! Man, you have to have a serious God complex to think you’re helping mankind with that shit.”

“Do you know why they do it?”

“Don’t know, don’t care. Okay, this is our tunnel. You’ll have to crawl, it’s kinda low.”

There was a rough opening in the wall of the utility tunnel where the concrete had been chipped away, leaving a black hole that snaked through the ground. Sam followed Rob in, but the going was much slower now and the air heavy and stale. He tried not to think about where they were or worry about cave-ins or the fact that he was having difficulty breathing.

“How much further?” he asked.

“Nearly there.”

They crawled on for what seemed like hours before a dim grey light began to dilute the inky blackness. Sam breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of the distant exit, and was thankful when they finally clambered out and into a small basement room. Rob disguised the hole with a few old crates and led the way up a narrow staircase and out into the city.

Sam had grown up on stories of San Francisco. His own memories were dim and mainly focused around the house, but his parents had talked of the city itself. They had only known it long after the earthquake had ravaged it, but they said its beauty still shone through. They had used that word a lot—it was always a “shining” place, glimmering at the entrance of the great bay. The result was that in Sam’s imagination it had become an almost mythical city, redolent of safety, perfection and the best of civilization.

Nothing could live up to that.

The real San Francisco turned out to be a warren of narrow streets bounded by crumbling tenements and littered with the detritus of decades. It wasn’t shining, it was dirty, cold, foggy, and grey. Sam shivered, pushed his hands deep into his pockets and cursed the theft of the car for the thousandth time.

“This way,” said Rob, nodding down the street.

“That’s okay,” said Sam, managing a smile. “I’ll be fine. I just want to get some miles between myself and the city. Thanks for all your help.”

“Don’t be crazy. You look pretty ill and the nights are freezing ‘round here. You can head out in the morning.”

Sam hesitated. Every instinct told him to get as far away as he could, but he had to admit that it
was
really cold, and it wasn’t even dark yet.

Life without a car sucked.

“You’re probably right,” he said.

Rob grinned and headed off down the rapidly darkening street. Sam loped after him, his mind still full of Bethany and the grim life she had ahead of her. He knew there were no guarantees that things would be any better if she left, but he couldn’t help feeling that he’d let her down.

“Hey, Rob?”

“Yeah.”

“What’s a theta?”

“You don’t know?”

“Would I be asking if I knew?”

Rob glanced at him sharply, then smiled.

“I guess not. Thetas are the ones that didn’t quite…take.”

“Take?”

“Yeah. See, the brains at HIR reckoned they were too busy or too important or too something to be bothered with having kids, so around the time of the first collapse they started cloning themselves.”

“Cloning?”

“Yeah, they’d been doing it with animals for years. The big agri-businesses made millions out of the genetically identical cows and pigs HIR created, so why not give it a go with people?”

“Perfect people.”

“Yeah, well, I wouldn’t go that far, but the brains certainly think their DNA’s a lot better than anyone else’s.”

“So I assume there was a problem.”

“Of course. I mean, usually it goes great, but sometimes the results are just a tad defective. The ones with physical problems they destroy, but the ones with mild mental issues are more useful.”

“And those are the thetas.”

“Yeah. Okay, we’re here.”

He stopped in front of a tumbledown Victorian house that had probably been quite elegant at one time, but now only seemed to be kept upright by the dirt, grime and creepers that clung to its walls. Cardboard and rags were fastened over all the ground floor windows and the door hung loose on a single hinge.