by Boyd Brent
“Tyburn did not die a warrior's death. A wound to his groin became infected. His death was slow and protracted. Something I hope to avoid with you.”
“Why? You feeling some empathy towards me, Gull?”
“The notion alone is an intriguing one. The understanding of empathy has become a hobby of mine.”
“Why? Assassins have no need of it.”
“I should think the reason obvious.”
“Not to me.”
“Something that is considered so threatening it must be eradicated? How could any intelligence not wish to understand it?”
“Empathy cannot be a threat to anyone or anything.”
Gull's voice dropped to a whisper – he sounded like a man communicating something of secrecy through a keyhole. “The threat is derived from not being able to obtain it.”
“Who are these lousy people?”
“Those who inhabit Central Dome. Do you see that collapsed stand at three o'clock?”
David glanced to his right. “I see it.”
“That is where we're going.”
The eastern edge of the Colosseum had fared the worst – great blocks and wedges of stone lay at confused angles while boulders lay sprinkled atop them like seeds scattered by a giant. As David drew nearer, he could make out the shape of an arch beyond the destruction. David walked below the arch and paused atop a wide staircase that dropped steeply into darkness. “Go down it, David.”
“It's pitch black …” David's eyes rolled up to their whites – and in pulses of black and white he observed a door some fifty metres down. On either side of this door stood a life-sized statue of a warrior, raised upon a plinth. The warriors had axes that they brought together to form an arch above the door. David felt himself moving down the steps towards this door. The white spectrum dissolved from David's vision and he stood in darkness outside it. “Knock, David. Louder. Max is quite old.”
The door opened inwards to reveal a small, stooped figure silhouetted against a backdrop of white neon. A reddish glow emanated from a central furnace way back inside the chamber. Sparks from the furnace appeared to leap from the head of the silhouetted figure and fall to place a crown of molten gold upon his head. David took half a step forward, eager to see the face beneath the light show. The man's forehead was a criss-cross of deep lines and furrows – here was a man devoted to thinking long and hard, and whose eyes twinkled with an enthusiasm that suggested the effort had been worth it. The man raised himself up on tiptoe and looked through David's eyes as though they were windows. Is he looking for friend or foe? The man had thick grey hair that smelled of chestnuts and smoke. Although David could not reference this smell from his own past, he had within him the DNA of someone who could. As a result, he found the smell comforting. The man raised an eyebrow. “Gull?”
“He's in there somewhere. You're Max?”
Max nodded and beckoned him inside.
The chamber's vaulted ceiling was held aloft by small arches, while much larger archways tapered off east and west into darkness. Max's workspace occupied the first chamber. In centuries past, fighters had assembled here before being led into the arena. Now the space contained work benches where holographic screens displayed symbols and diagrams that rotated clockwise on a slight axis. On other benches lay surgical tools and beakers. Neon balloons floated about the chamber – mini Zeppelins of light that reacted to Max's every movement. David navigated a number of these balloons and approached the furnace. He held his hands out to the flames and closed his eyes, savouring the warmth on his face. When he opened his eyes they were no longer blue but white. “How are you, Max?” asked Gull.
Max observed the figure, standing with his back to him, hands held out to the flames. “As well as can be expected. I have plenty to occupy my mind.”
Gull turned his head and spoke over his shoulder. “You have aged since my last visit.”
“My faculties have not.”
“I hope not. For both our sakes. I need your assistance now more than ever.” Gull walked over and stood before the old man who placed his hands on either side of David's head, studying him. “You've had larger vessels. But few have looked as lithe … or as dangerous.”
“David is dangerous. He helped a woman escape from his cell while I was carrying out a routine diagnostic. This knowledge must be deleted from my memory.”
“A vessel with initiative?” Max shone a torch attached to his wrist into Gull's eyes. Using his thumbs, he rolled down the eyes to their blue pupils. Beyond, David tried to recoil from the light but had nowhere to go. “And what of our usual work?” asked Max.
“A large quantity of seepage awaits dispersal and camouflage. Dangerous seepage. David contains levels of empathy that should be obsolete.” Max let go of David's eyes. “Then he must be destroyed.”
“He acted to protect another with no benefit to himself.”
“A family member, you mean? Such cases were not unheard of in my grandparents’ time ...”
“No, Max. The woman he wanted to protect was no relation.”
Max wiped a bead of perspiration from his forehead. “It could be that a recent dilemma he’s faced has triggered something in him. Something dormant.”
“It had occurred to me,” said Gull.
“His condition suggests he had a job in maintenance. He worked on the turbines?”
“Yes.”
“Maintaining Central Dome's power supply … it's one of the few remaining uses for those outside …” Gull stepped away and made his way towards the first of a series of archways. He stopped, looked over his shoulder and said, “I am feeling …”
“Feeling?” said Max.
“Yes, I am feeling nostalgic. For old friends.”
“You know where to find them. And when you're finished, we have important work to do.” Max glanced up a Zeppelin. “Accompany our visitor,” he instructed it.
“Thank you, Max. I should like David to see our ancestors with his own eyes.”
When control was returned to him, David found himself in a chamber amongst Gull's previous vessels: a collection of sixty husks of mummified flesh, held together by rotted garments and lashed upright by lengths of wire attached to bolts in the ceiling. They looked like a collection of life-sized marionettes. David gazed up at the face of the man before him. The man was a foot taller and twice as wide across his shoulders as David. The left side of his face was fashioned from mummified tendons; the remnants of an eye sat here and appeared to stare down at him. The right side of the face was a bleached skull, empty. David's gaze fell to what looked like a ball of dried leather in its ribcage. “This is Tyburn, David. The vessel I told you about.”
“What is that?”
“Tyburn's heart.”
“Why have you brought me to see this?”
“They are my favorite vessels. You of all people should appreciate the sentiment behind my collection.”
“Sentiment?”
“I have a surprise for you, David.”
“That's okay.”
“Look down, David.” David looked down at the metal base he was standing on. “Turn around and face the other way.” David turned as though in a daze and stood at the head of the troop. “This is where you are to spend eternity,” said Gull.
Five
Gull returned to the main chamber. Max looked up from a work bench and squinted to see the colour of his eyes. “I thought you wanted David to see your collection?”
“He did,” said Gull, “but then he grew quite agitated. You must have heard him raise his voice?”
Max shook his head.
“I allowed David to savour the view from his place. I should have expected as much from a man who still knows hope.”
Max walked over to an object concealed beneath a black sheet. A Zeppelin followed and hovered over his left shoulder. Max pulled off the sheet to reveal a reclining chair. Gull sat in the chair. Leather straps hung from the chair's arms and Max secured these about Gull's wrists. The c
olour returned to David's vision and he blinked up at a red brick ceiling. Max flicked a switch behind his head and the chair's back lowered. Max loomed over him.
“What are you going to do to me?” asked David.
Max stood as straight as his back would allow. “What is necessary.” He turned and walked over to the holographic display of David's brain. David turned his head to the right and watched. Max picked up a silver funnel with a handle attached. It looked like something used to examine the inner ear. Max held it in his left hand and with his right he picked up a scapel-shaped instrument. He placed the funnel's tip inside the left hemisphere of David's holographic brain, and moved the scalpel’s tip beside it. “This is a delicate procedure. There is considerable seepage. You must have exchanged a great deal of information … ”
“Really? Can't say I feel any different.”
“ … the information is received at a subconscious level.”
“What information?” said David.
“Those things that Gull excels at …”
“Decapitation?”
“ … Combat skills, if threatened you may be surprised by your reactions and the choices you make …”
“I'm feeling threatened now. Can't say I'm feeling all that sprightly,” murmured David.
In the left hemisphere of his brain, David could see a dark grey sphere, half the size of an egg, from which blackened tentacles crept into his grey matter. David stared at this alien invasion, swallowed hard and looked away. “Is that Gull?”
Max muttered absently, “Of course.”
“Can it be removed?”
“It will be removed.”
“I mean before it gets me killed.”
Max did not answer. David raised his voice. “Can it be removed? Can you remove it?”
Max tutted as though the interruptions were becoming tiresome. “Gull cannot be removed without killing you.” A pain flared between David's temples and he cried out. Max smiled. David closed his eyes and said, “Was it you? Did you put it in my head?” Even as David asked this he knew the question was a stupid one.
“I assumed you were more intelligent than that ...” said Max. He probed the holographic image again, and this time the pain felt like a hot wire being fed through the top of his skull. David gripped the arms of the chair and grimaced. “I heard them … heard them putting it… putting Gull in my head.”
“It's possible.”
“Who were they?”
“SAPH scientists.”
“Was I taken inside Central Dome?”
“Of course not.”
Another sharp pain. “What? What do you know of Petri?” asked David.
At the mention of Petri, Max looked over his shoulder at David. “You've been there on a mission?”
David opened his eyes and stared up at the ceiling. “No. But Gull told me about it.”
Max came and stood over him, holding the instruments as though about to perform an operation. “What did Gull tell you? About the people in Petri?”
“That they're not really people. Not anymore.”
“And what makes them so different from the inhabitants of Goliath?”
“They harvest each other … for food and clothing. They're evolving into monsters.”
“Doubtless the point of the experiment.”
“For what purpose?”
Max shrugged his shoulders. “Evolution given a helping hand.”
“Sounds more like devolution to me. Gull said that everyone outside Central Dome must end up in Petri eventually. He said the day is coming when all roads lead there. For everyone. Does that include you?”
“Gull needs me.”
“Will he need you once everyone is transported?”
“Those inside will still require regulation. Culling. Central Dome will still need Gull. And Gull will need me.”
“You so sure about that?”
“Enough talk. I have work to do.”
Max worked for another hour in silence, and David watched him. When finally he came back over, he shone a beam of light into David's eyes. “Hello, Gull. Welcome back...” he said.
David's eyes rolled up to their whites. “Am I fit for purpose?” asked Gull.
“There was an extraordinary amount of seepage, but it is dispersed and hidden. I've also serviced your neural inhibitor. This vessel, he talks. A lot. I suggest you get him killed quickly.” Max untied the straps and Gull sat up. “I'm going to conserve energy, Max. Examine your work. I suggest you enjoy David's company. I believe him to be the last of his kind. I will remain just below the surface should you need me.”
David's eyes returned to blue. He closed them and listened for the low hum that indicated Gull's presence. Nothing. How far below the surface are you? thought David, opening his eyes.
“Gull suggested I enjoy your company,” said Max. “But I'd sooner you said nothing.” David watched him push a sequence of buttons within the display. The image of David's brain rotated once, anti-clockwise, and vanished. Max turned his back on the workbench and stepped towards another. David climbed out of the chair and slipped off his shoes. With his back to David, Max cleared his throat and shook his head at something on the bench. David moved silently to the holographic display and reached inside it. A keypad materialised – four rows of symbols, five symbols in each row. David punched in the triangular sequence he'd watched Max use. Nothing. He moved the sequence one square to the right and tried again. Again, nothing. He tried two spaces to the left. The hologram of his brain returned, did a single clockwise rotation and locked into place. David leaned over it and peered at Gull – black tentacles moved perceptibly from the dark grey sphere, their shadowy tips creeping like inquisitive roots. David scratched at his left temple.
“Get away from there! Gull!” Max, suddenly beside him, reached for the holographic keypad. David grabbed his wrist and waited for Gull to seize back control. “Get away from here!”
David tightened his grip. “I think we're alone.”
“You are never alone! Gull!”
“I don't think he can hear you, Max.”
“How did you know the activation sequence? Even Gull does not know it.”
David grabbed Max about the throat and shoved him backwards with a force that sent him to the ground. Max lay on the floor, cradling his right arm. “Gull will punish you! You have no idea of the pain he will inflict.”
“Oh, I have a pretty good idea.” David stared at the holographic image – at Gull.
“You cannot harm Gull … only yourself.” David picked up the scalpel and brought it close to his face. He felt a rise in its surface beneath his forefinger. He pushed down, and a faint yellow glow ebbed from the scalpel's tip. On the floor behind him Max said, “If you put that inside the display you'll be committing suicide.”
David closed his eyes and drew a deep breath. “I don't have a great deal to lose.”
“Not here! Please.” David opened his eyes and tightened his grip on the scalpel. Behind him, Max attempted to stand but fell back onto his side. “Please!” he cried, “If you die here you'll reveal this location to SAPH.”
“If I die here, I don't care.”
“And your empathy?”
“Doesn't apply to you apparently. This is the only chance I'm ever going to get.”
“To commit suicide?”
“To change my circumstances. One way or another … ” David thrust the scalpel into the holographic sphere, into Gull. The scalpel remained in place as though driven into a solid, and David was thrown backwards by a jolt of electricity. It sent him stumbling over Max and over the workstation behind him. David lay on ground unconscious, blood trickling from his left ear. The scalpel inside Gull began to vibrate, and a wail rose from it that shattered nearby beakers. Max got up. He cupped his hands over his ears and stumbled towards the keypad. He punched in a sequence of numbers, muttering to himself, then he froze and shook his head, berated himself and tried another sequence – the scalpel fell onto the wor
kstation as though plucked by gravity. And the wailing ceased.
Six
“Da. Da. Da? Da. Da.” David opened his eyes. He was lying face-down, and someone was tugging on his arm. He turned to see Max kneeling beside him with a length of rope. David punched Max in the stomach and Max hissed like something punctured and rolled onto his side. Dazed, David stood up and tottered over him. “Da. Da. Da Da?” said Gull.
David thumped a palm against his temple.
“Da? Da? Da? Da? Da?”
“I'm not your father! Why won't you die!”
Max looked up at him. “He's talking to you? Gull? Gull! You must assume control of this vessel. Before it kills me!” David stepped towards the workstation and Max grabbed his ankle. David crouched and shoved Max's head face down into the ground, busting his nose.
David stood before the holographic display. He picked up the scalpel and activated it. David looked at the sphere, at Gull – a tear ran through the centre of the implant. David put the scalpel down and hauled Max to his feet, standing him before the display. Blood streamed from Max's nose and splashed onto the workstation. He cupped his nose with a hand and blinked at the image. “You should be dead,” he observed.
“Why can I still hear him? Why can I still hear Gull?”
“The connection between your neural pathways has not been fully severed.”
“Does that mean it can still control me?”
“What?”
“Can it still control me? Make me its slave?”
“In order to answer your question, I will need to run a full diagnostic. Go and sit in the chair.” Max reached for the keypad but David grabbed his wrist. “Then how am I to answer your questions?” said Max growing increasingly exasperated.
David grabbed the back of Max's neck and shoved his face forwards. “Take an educated guess. Can it still control me?”
“All I can tell you is that the damage is considerable! You must allow me to run a thorough diagnostic.”
“You think I want it repaired?”
“Then tell me what you want!”
“What I want? I want …”
