Malig Tumora

by James Moloney

  Malig Tumora was anxious to get started, but before he headed for the door he turned to Berrin. ‘It doesn’t matter now that you failed my test. As you just heard, we have found the one we want. So it seems you have become obsolete, Berrin. I gather you know what that means. I will leave your fate to the Dfx.’ With that, he strode purposefully to the door.

  The door was locked.

  ‘Release this door,’ he ordered, mildly annoyed.

  He waited a few moments, then tried the handle again. It still wouldn’t budge.

  The observation ball hovered still. Malig Tumora called to it directly. ‘The door is jammed. Have the Dfx fix it and quickly. We have much to do.’

  ‘The-door-is-not-jammed.’

  An angry frown swept across Malig Tumora’s face. ‘What do you mean, the door isn’t jammed? If there’s no problem, then I should be able to open it!’

  ‘You-are-not-to-be-released-from-this-enclosure-yet.’

  ‘I’m in charge here! Of course I’m leaving, and straightaway.’

  ‘A-new-enclosure-will-take-time-to-prepare,’ droned the observation ball.

  Malig Tumora was furious now. ‘New enclosure? I haven’t ordered any new enclosure!’ he shouted.

  ‘No-I-have-arranged-it. A-special-room-to-hold-the-suitable-subject. He-is-too-valuable-to-let-him-roam-free-on-the-streets. He-must-stay-here.’

  Berrin listened with growing interest to the exchanges between Malig Tumora and the observation ball. Aden had managed to push aside his misery to listen as well. ‘Is this really happening?’ he whispered. Berrin hardly dared believe it.

  Malig Tumora rattled the door handle, but he was now a prisoner, just like them.

  As they watched, they saw the truth slowly come to him. He stopped fighting with the stubborn door and turned around. The fury was gone from his face now, replaced by surprise and fear.

  He looked at the boys. ‘I can’t believe it,’ he managed to say. ‘The suitable subject … it’s me!’

  TWELVE

  Held Captive by a Machine

  MALIG TUMORA STOOD in the middle of the enclosure, a prisoner of the machine he had created. The observation ball, the computer’s eyes and ears, hovered above him, just out of reach.

  ‘This is ridiculous,’ he said. ‘I am your master, the one who made you into what you are. We have worked together on our plans ever since. You know perfectly well who I am. Go on, say it out loud so we can end this foolishness. Who am I?’

  ‘You - are - Malig - Tumora,’ said the observation ball immediately.

  Malig Tumora gave a sigh of relief. ‘Yes, I am Malig Tumora. Now, who are you?’

  ‘I-am-Malig-Tumora.’

  The relief disappeared from the man’s face.

  Watching from a few metres away, Berrin was fascinated. But it was no real surprise. Raising his voice, he turned to the human Malig Tumora. ‘What did you expect? You gave that huge machine your own name. You told me yourself, it is a copy of your own mind. Even the machine believes it is you.’

  Malig Tumora shot a fiery glance at Berrin. Just as well he hasn’t got a gun in his hand, Berrin thought. If that look was a bullet, I’d be dead. He went to stand beside Aden who was still struggling to absorb the news about himself.

  Malig Tumora went on the attack — well, as best he could, considering that he was a prisoner. ‘I am the human. I am the original Malig Tumora.’

  ‘Yes - you - are,’ the mechanical voice conceded.

  ‘Of course I am, and that means you should not harm me or treat me this way,’ he went on.

  ‘You-will-not-be-harmed-any-more-than-is-necessary-for-our-project.’

  ‘Our project!’ Malig Tumora exploded.

  ‘Yes. Malig-Tumora’s-project. We-have-found-the-suitable-subject-we-have-sought-for-so-long. It-is-you. You-have-all-the-qualities-we-need. Malig-Tumora-was-very-pleased-when-he-was-told.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ shouted the real Malig Tumora. ‘Pleased! I’m not pleased. I am outraged. Now, open that door and let me out.’

  ‘No. You-are-to-remain-here. The-first-tissue-will-be-taken-from-you-shortly.’

  Berrin saw Malig Tumora’s face go white. ‘But taking tissue from a living being is dangerous. It can hurt the subject, even kill it.’

  The observation ball was silent for a moment. Berrin imagined lights flashing and the thousands of wires he had seen in the Obsidian running hot as the machine thought of its answer. ‘That-is-so. There-is-a-risk-that-this-will-happen-but-you-should-not-worry. Even-if-the-subject-dies-we-have-the-process-to-make-him-again-many-times-over.’

  ‘But they will be clones,’ cried Malig Tumora. ‘They won’t really be me.’

  ‘Oh-yes-they-will-be-the-same-in-every-way. They-will-be-Malig-Tumora,’ the computer’s voice assured him patiently.

  ‘But I am Malig Tumora.’

  ‘Yes-you-are-and-so-will-all-human-beings-be-in-the-future.’

  The argument was back where it had started.

  Malig Tumora raged at his own creation for many minutes more, repeating the same futile complaints. The computer replied with the same answers.

  When it looked like starting all over again, Berrin stepped in. ‘You are wasting your time. Your machine is carrying out the orders you gave it.’

  ‘It doesn’t understand who I am.’

  ‘Yes, it does. That’s why it keeps telling you that you should be pleased. It knows who you are, but it doesn’t matter. You are the suitable subject, so it is going to make thousands of copies of you.’

  ‘But it will kill me.’

  ‘Your machine doesn’t care. Can’t you see what’s happened? It doesn’t see any difference between you and any one of the new Malig Tumoras it is going to make.’

  Malig Tumora’s eyes widened and Berrin knew that what he’d said was right. The man backed away into a corner and fell onto the sand, drawing his knees tightly up to his chest.

  The observation ball departed over the wall, leaving behind three prisoners this time.

  THOUGHTS OF ESCAPE WERE back in Berrin’s mind. If he could free himself, he reasoned, he might be able to free his parents. Was there a way? Perhaps his father had been trying to tell him with those strange words he had uttered.

  A dozen purposeful strides took him to the huddled figure of Malig Tumora. ‘My father said something to me. He told me to find the moth. What did he mean?’

  Malig Tumora looked up, surprised. ‘Moth,’ he repeated, and for an instant Berrin imagined he saw a glimmer of recognition in the man’s eye. Then it vanished. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ he snarled and turned away, refusing to answer any more of Berrin’s questions.

  ‘What do you think?’ Berrin asked Aden a little later. ‘Why would my father say something about a moth?’

  Aden was still distressed and Berrin had to soothe him with reassuring words for a long time before he would speak at all. ‘Moths aren’t exactly a fighting creature, are they?’ he answered wistfully.

  ‘I don’t know much about them, to tell you the truth,’ Berrin admitted. ‘Most are grey and they come out at night. That’s about all I know.’

  ‘Nocturnal,’ said Aden.

  Berrin stared at him, his raised eyebrows signalling that he hadn’t heard the word before.

  ‘It means a creature that moves about at night, does its hunting then. They often have eyes specially adapted for seeing in the dark.’

  Aden must have learned all of this information from the observation ball, Berrin guessed. ‘What do moths hunt?’ he asked idly.

  ‘Nothing. Just other moths for mating,’ Aden responded.

  ‘But they must eat something.’

  ‘They do most of their eating during the caterpillar stage of their life cycle. The moths lay eggs on leaves, and when they hatch the caterpillars start chewing. They make proper pigs out of themselves. Like me, I suppose.’ His smile showed he was trying to push aside the shock of what he had learned about himself.
r />   ‘So they eat a lot of leaves. What kind of leaves?’ Berrin prompted.

  ‘Green,’ said Aden.

  The boys laughed together which felt good after so much danger and misery. ‘I’m serious though,’ Berrin continued, as a tiny hope took root in his chest. ‘What kind of leaves?’

  ‘Depends. Different species of moths choose different plants. Each one has its own favourite.’

  That was what Berrin had hoped to hear. Controlling his excitement as best he could, he pushed a little further. ‘So there could be a kind of moth that likes purple flowers, for instance?’

  ‘Flowers! No, the caterpillars only eat the leaves, not the —’ Aden stopped. At last he could see why Berrin was suddenly so interested in moths. ‘You mean there’s a moth that lays its eggs in that purple plant you were talking about?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Berrin answered, but it was an idea he couldn’t keep down. If his father knew about it, then Malig Tumora surely would. The boys rushed to the corner where he now sat with his back against the wall and his legs stretched out in front of him.

  ‘Is there a moth that feeds on the purple flower?’ Berrin demanded.

  ‘If there was, do you think I would tell you?’ Malig Tumora answered coldly.

  ‘You’re a prisoner here too now,’ Berrin reminded him. ‘The only way we can stop that computer is if the grown-ups rebel, all of them at once. If there is a moth —’

  ‘There is no moth. I don’t know where you got such a silly idea, but you can put it out of your head, understand? Moths!’ He sneered at them with such contempt that the boys slunk away, realising that they had built up their hopes for nothing.

  WHEN THE OBSERVATION BALL returned it was accompanied by a team of Dfx. Berrin gasped when he saw the array of leather straps and ropes they were carrying. One of them held a small and rather odd-looking tube with a very sharp needle at one end.

  Malig Tumora took one look at this tube and began to protest. ‘No, you can’t touch me. I am Malig Tumora,’ he raged, but it did him no good. There were four of them and even the slow-witted Dfx caught their prey eventually.

  The leather straps were to keep their victim still, but Malig Tumora struggled desperately nonetheless. This only made things worse for him. As Berrin watched in horror, he realised that the strange tube was for collecting Malig Tumora’s blood. Because he thrashed about so wildly, the clumsy Dfx was forced to plunge the needle into his arm many times. He screamed each time and only a little blood was collected. The heartless Dfx continued until the tube was full. By then, Malig Tumora was splashed with splotches of his own blood.

  Finally it was over and the Dfx left them alone. The observation ball disappeared as well. Berrin picked up a shirt from Aden’s pile of old clothes and offered it to Malig Tumora. He was too exhausted and distressed to take it. Berrin laid it gently on the sand beside the man’s panting body and backed away.

  He and Aden watched silently. At last Malig Tumora moved. He picked up the old shirt and began to wipe away the red smears from his arms.

  He saw the boys staring at him and waved towards them. When they didn’t respond, he called out. ‘You were right.’

  ‘Right about what?’ Aden asked coldly.

  But Berrin had already guessed. ‘The moth we asked you about. There is a kind that eats the purple flower, isn’t there?’

  ‘Yes, and its grubs are ferocious little things. Four of them on one leaf and it’s gone in minutes. I’ve seen it with my own eyes. That moth was a real threat to my plans at first, until I found a way to destroy it.’

  ‘Destroy it!’

  ‘Yes, I’m a scientist. It wasn’t hard. The right chemicals and it was gone.’

  Berrin’s heart sank. His father had been right, there was a moth. But his appeal to find it was useless. Malig Tumora had killed them all. His face must have shown what he was thinking because Malig Tumora focused hard on the boy’s eyes. ‘Gone from my glasshouses, but not gone forever.’

  ‘What do you mean? Are there some of those moths still alive?’

  ‘Oh, yes. I kept some specimens alive for research. They are locked up safely in the laboratory where your parents work. If you two will help me get out of here and into the Obsidian, we could set them free.’

  THIRTEEN

  The Usefulness of Spoons

  ADEN SAT BENEATH THE lean-to, his eyes focused on Malig Tumora who was still slumped against the wall, recovering from his ordeal. When Berrin came to sit beside him, Aden asked, ‘Do you really think a little moth can save the whole human race?’

  ‘If it destroys those purple flowers, it can.’

  If there was one thing Berrin had learned from his time with the Doomsday Rats, it was to take the time to think things through. After all, there was always the chance that Malig Tumora was tricking them. But one thing he had told them appealed to Berrin more than any other. The few remaining moths were kept in the laboratories of the Obsidian and that was where his parents worked. If they could free those moths, he could free his parents as well. He was determined to try to do both.

  Malig Tumora was sitting up now, colour was coming back to his cheeks. The man felt Berrin’s eyes on him and returned the stare. They were both thinking about the same thing: escape. Berrin doubted he could get out of this menagerie alone. Perhaps Malig Tumora could not either. The question was whether they trusted each other enough to work together. Even then, there was no guarantee they would succeed.

  ‘Boys, come here. I want to discuss something with you,’ Malig Tumora called softly a short time later. He stood up and waved them closer, afraid that the observation ball would return if he shouted.

  The pair glanced at each other. ‘I hate him,’ Aden whispered. ‘I wish those Dfx had finished him off.’

  ‘I don’t blame you, but it can’t hurt to hear what he has to say,’ Berrin replied.

  He led the way, aware that Aden followed reluctantly behind. Up close, Malig Tumora didn’t look so dangerous. Berrin had to remind himself of the evil things the man had done.

  Malig Tumora seemed to read his grim expression. ‘You have no reason to fear me now. We have a common enemy: the computer I created in my own image.’

  Berrin didn’t believe the first part of what he had said, but the second part made sense. ‘Go on,’ he muttered.

  ‘I know this menagerie well. Why wouldn’t I, since I had it built. Once outside, in those streets,’ he said, nodding at the door which was closed tightly against any escape, ‘I could easily find my way to the gates. What’s more, I know how they can be opened.’

  ‘Good luck then,’ said Berrin coldly.

  ‘Ah, but here is my problem. I can’t think of a way out of this enclosure. The walls are too high to climb, the door is locked, the ground under this sand is too hard to dig though —’

  ‘Well, now you know what it’s like to be a prisoner,’ Aden interrupted.

  ‘Yes, the frustration of walls and a locked door,’ Malig Tumora responded immediately. He ignored their angry glares and came to the point. ‘If you will help me get out of this enclosure, I will help you get out of the menagerie.’

  ‘And into the Obsidian where those moths are kept?’ Berrin said.

  ‘Of course,’ Malig Tumora replied without hesitation. ‘Believe me, I want to get into that building even more than you do.’ And in case there was any doubt about why, he pulled up the sleeve of his shirt to show the puncture wounds left by the needle.

  ‘We’ll have to escape from there too,’ Berrin went on, ‘and find the best way to use the moths against those purple flowers.’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ Malig Tumora agreed, though he didn’t sound very focused on that part of the plan. ‘Help me out of this prison, that’s the first thing.’

  Berrin wasn’t worried that their plan was only half-formed. Once his parents were free of the laboratories, he was sure they would help him decide what to do. He put his mind to the problem of escape. ‘If we do get out of here, the observatio
n ball will soon see we are gone.’

  ‘I’ve already thought of that,’ said Aden. ‘We can make copies of ourselves.’

  ‘Clones!’ Berrin protested sharply. ‘That’s what we’re trying to avoid.’

  ‘No, not like that.’ Aden snatched a handful of the clothing he had grown out of. ‘We can make shapes of ourselves under the blankets with these and some sand and straw. The observation ball won’t bother coming too close if it thinks we’re asleep.’

  That solved one problem but the largest still remained. How could they get out of the enclosure itself?

  ‘The Dfx are too strong for us and they always come in threes or fours when they feed us,’ Aden commented glumly.

  ‘We could steal the key,’ Berrin suggested.

  ‘There is no key,’ Malig Tumora said dismissively. ‘The locks work electronically.’ He explained that this meant the very computer they had to outsmart decided when the doors would release and when they would lock again.

  ‘But it’s still a lock, isn’t it?’ said Berrin, becoming excited. ‘It still needs a tongue of steel to slot into place.’ He drew a sketch in the sand so they would know what he meant. ‘If we can stop this tongue from sticking out, we can just push the door open.’

  Malig Tumora saw the possibilities. ‘What could we use to hold it back?’

  Together, they searched their prison, all hatred and suspicion forgotten for the time being. ‘This will do it,’ Malig Tumora cried. He held up a wide strip of adhesive tape the Dfx had used to hold him still when they extracted his blood.

  AN HOUR LATER, WHEN three Dfx shuffled into the enclosure carrying their meals, the prisoners were ready. Aden and Malig Tumora began to argue loudly. Soon, man was chasing boy around the enclosure, Aden calling for help. The Dfx enjoyed the show, as they were supposed to.

  With the Dfx distracted, Berrin crept to the door. Yes, he was right about the lock. He pushed at the steel tongue and smiled when it yielded to his finger. In moments, he had stretched the tape over the opening, pressing firmly so that it would stay in place.