Paradigm

by Helen Stringer

  “That’s wonderful! Let’s have a look at you.”

  The usual prodding and poking followed. Sam wasn’t sure how much longer he could string this out, but Dr. Robinson seemed pleased enough as she stood back, her hands on her hips and a large smile on her face.

  “Splendid! You know, I think you might be well enough to meet the review board tomorrow.”

  “The review board?”

  “Yes. Don’t worry, it’s just colleagues. They’re very keen to see what you can do.”

  “What I can—?”

  “You see,” she said, leaning in conspiratorially, “we’ve never seen one as old as you and still pre-download.”

  She ruffled his hair with her hand, as if that would make him feel better. Sam wondered what it was with these old women and his hair. And what was it with their hands? Bast’s had been like the talons of some meat-eating bird, and now the doctor’s was like five clammy sausages snuffling across his head. It took all of his presence of mind not to shrink away and blow the whole slow recovery deal out of the water.

  “Well, I’ll see you tomorrow. I take it Bethany has already given you your dinner?”

  “Yes. She’s a nice girl.”

  “Yes, she is. For a theta. We just can’t give her anything too complicated, poor thing. Good night!”

  The door shut behind her and Sam strained to hear if it locked. It didn’t. He’d listened every time Robinson or Bethany came and went, but the door hadn’t been locked once. Presumably because Robinson assumed he wasn’t going anywhere, or perhaps because there was nowhere to go. Either way, it was time he took a roam around.

  He waited for about an hour, or what he guessed was an hour, then crept into the bathroom and got dressed. His clothes were all there, but the pill box and the watch were missing. The watch wasn’t a family heirloom or anything, just something he’d found on his travels, but he was disappointed to have lost it. On the other hand, he couldn’t really blame Vincent for taking it. The rover probably saw it as part-payment for the truck. The pill box was another matter, though. If anyone tried popping one of those for a thrill they’d be in for a big surprise and two or three days of oblivion.

  Sam crept over to the door and listened. Silence. He turned the handle and inched it open. The tickling feeling in the back of his head started almost immediately. He shut the door. It was gone. So that was it. The room was sealed in some way.

  He took a deep breath and opened the door again. The corridor outside was dark but there was a faint grey light at one end. He slipped out of the room, closed the door and made his way slowly toward the light.

  The source was a small lamp on a tiny wooden desk. For a moment he hesitated. Was someone there? He crept closer. No. There was nothing on the desk except the light and a chipped mug with a few pens and pencils. He looked around and saw the distinctive double doors of an elevator. For a moment his heart leapt, but there was no call button, just a keyhole. He went back to the desk and rummaged through the drawers for the key, just in case. No luck.

  Then he heard it.

  “Sam.”

  It was a whisper, a hiss inside his head.

  “Sam. Sam.”

  He looked around. There was a door, slightly ajar. He opened it slowly and found himself looking down another long dark corridor.

  “Sam. Sam. Sam. Sam…”

  It was louder now and more insistent. He felt along the wall for a switch and turned on the light. There were doors along both sides of the corridor. Each door had a window set into it at eye level, beneath which was a small sign. “Series Alpha #2,” “Series Alpha #3” and so on. Every instinct told Sam not to look, to go back to his room and wait for morning.

  He walked up to the nearest door and opened it. Like his room, it consisted of a bed, a chair and a small bathroom. But the occupant wasn’t in bed, he was crouching in the far corner, drooling and plucking his hair out, strand by strand. He glanced up at Sam, without interest.

  “Sam,” he muttered. “Samsamsamsam…”

  Sam stared at him for a few moments, then closed the door and went to the next room, flinging open the door. The boy in this room was younger than him and curled up in the bed. He opened his eyes and looked at Sam.

  “Sam. Sam. Sam.”

  These eyes, too, were vacant. But there was something else about them, something that made Sam’s blood run cold. He went to the next room, and the next, and the next. Every one housed a boy either a few years younger or a few years older than him. They were all severely mentally disabled.

  And they all had one blue eye and one green eye.

  Chapter 19

  SAM BACKED OUT OF the last room and stumbled down the corridor to the desk.

  “Sam! Sam! Sam!”

  The boys were all screaming inside his head now. He raced back to his room, slammed the door behind him and slid down the wall until he was sitting on the cold floor, his head in his hands.

  What had they done to them? And who were they? He squeezed his eyes shut as if that simple act would make their faces disappear from his memory. All those pale, pale faces…and the eyes. His eyes.

  He looked up and took a deep breath. This was no good. He couldn’t allow himself to fall apart. He had to keep going and he hadn’t checked out the other end of the corridor. The side away from the light. He stood up and opened the door.

  SamSamSamSam…

  It was loud, but he gritted his teeth and turned right, feeling his way along the darkened end of the corridor. If there was an elevator there were almost certainly stairs as well.

  After a few minutes he reached the end and found a door, but it was securely locked. He sighed and turned back, walking more quickly now that he knew there were no obstacles.

  Except there was. His left foot hit something soft and he tripped.

  “Ow!”

  “What?”

  “You kicked me!”

  “Bethany?” Sam could just see the outline of her curls in the dark. “What are you doing here?”

  “I sleep here.”

  Sam crouched down and reached out until his hands found her in the gloom. She seemed to be huddled in a blanket, but her skin was like ice.

  “You’re freezing!”

  “That’s okay.”

  “No it isn’t. Come with me.”

  He took her hand and led her down to his room.

  “I’m not supposed to go in the rooms after dark. Dr. Robinson says it’s dangerous.”

  “Well, firstly, it’s not dark in my room, thanks to you, and secondly I’m not dangerous. Get into the bed and warm up.”

  Bethany’s eyes widened.

  “I can’t do that! It’s your bed!”

  “I need to do some thinking. I’ll sit on the floor. I’ve been in bed enough.”

  Bethany looked at him, then crossed the room slowly and crept into the bed. Sam sat on the floor and drew his knees up.

  “What are you going to think about?”

  “Getting away.”

  “I still don’t understand why you want to do that. I told you—”

  “Yes, I know what you told me,” snapped Sam, immediately regretting his tone. “I’m sorry. I mean…I’ve seen them, Bethany.”

  “Who?”

  “The…the boys in the rooms.”

  “The other Sams?”

  Sam nodded, but wasn’t ready to call them that out loud.

  “What do you know about them?”

  “Nothing,” said Bethany, shrugging. “Dr. Robinson told me that they’d been fixed, that’s all. They were broken, I guess, but now they have their own rooms.”

  Sam smiled and leaned back against the wall. He knew she wouldn’t provide any useful information, but it was nice to talk to somebody anyway.

  “I’ve never been in a bed before.”

  “Seriously?”

  “No. Thetas don’t get beds. Sometimes they do later, though, if they’re good and very polite. This is nice, much better than the floor.”

>   Sam looked at her, sitting there, all wide-eyed innocence, completely unaware of how badly she’d been treated. He wanted to save her. To get her out of there, away to somewhere bright and warm, but he couldn’t even save himself, and even if he could, she didn’t think she needed help.

  “What’s a theta?” he asked, finally.

  “I am,” she said, cheerily. “Some of us don’t come out right. But Dr. Robinson says that’s okay ‘cause not everyone can be scientists and floors don’t clean themselves. She says the important thing is to be useful.”

  Sam sighed and looked at the ceiling.

  “You’re sad, aren’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?” She looked genuinely puzzled, her large blue eyes shining and confused.

  “You know why, Bethany,” he said quietly.

  Bethany chewed at her lip, then lay back and curled up into a ball. Sam closed his eyes and considered that, in a way, Bethany was lucky. Her life might seem awful to him, but she understood it—it had order and purpose.

  “I know someone who might help you, I think.”

  Sam’s eyes snapped open. Bethany was sitting up again.

  “What?”

  “I know someone who might help. He used to live here, but he left. Dr. Robinson says he’s very bad, but he’s always nice to me. Sometimes I leave him messages in a special place and he brings me things, like candy and once a real apple!”

  Sam’s heart leapt. He wanted to know more, but realized that the best approach was probably a careful one. Bethany wasn’t such an empty vessel after all. She did think. She just needed time.

  “That would be wonderful,” he said.

  She beamed and curled up into a ball again.

  “Nighty-night, Sam.”

  “Night-night, Bethany.”

  She closed her eyes and was almost immediately asleep. Sam watched the steady rise and fall of her breathing and slowly drifted off himself.

  When he awoke Bethany was gone and the bed neatly made. He stood up, went into the bathroom and removed his clothes, folding them as neatly as he could, before getting into bed and waiting. After about half an hour Bethany returned with his breakfast.

  “I left the message,” she whispered.

  “I don’t want you to get in trouble,” said Sam. “If someone finds the note—”

  “Oh, it’s not a note. Thetas aren’t taught to read and write. It’s a thing. I leave the thing and he knows that I want to see him.”

  Sam was about to make some remark about the injustice of not even being allowed to read and write when the door suddenly burst open and Dr. Robinson breezed in.

  “Ah! Sitting up! Splendid! Bethany, go get the wheelchair.”

  Bethany glanced at Sam, and for a moment he thought she was about to spill the beans, but she just smiled and skipped out of the room.

  “Can you walk yet?” asked Robinson, sticking a thermometer into his mouth.

  “A bit.”

  “Yes, that’s always the last to come back. Still, you’re doing very well. Temperature’s normal. D’you think you can walk to the bathroom?”

  “I guess.”

  “Right then. You do that. Have a shower. Get dressed. I’ll be back in ten minutes.”

  She strode to the door, then hesitated and glanced back at Sam. He started to get out of bed, trying to look suitably unsteady. She smiled briefly and left, only this time there was the unmistakable sound of the door being locked.

  Sam walked to the bathroom and turned on the shower. It felt good. Almost as good as the one in the hotel, though somewhat ruined by his sense of impending doom. If Bethany’s mysterious friend didn’t come through there’d be nothing for it but to try and break down the door to the stairs. After he’d broken down the door to his room, of course. All of which would probably attract attention. On the other hand, if this trip to the “review board” took him past any exits, he’d be an idiot if he didn’t grab the opportunity and just run for it.

  He got dressed, then sat on the bed and waited. It was a long ten minutes, but eventually Dr. Robinson returned, along with Bethany and an ancient wheelchair.

  “In you go,” said the doctor, cheerily. “We don’t want you keeling over on the way!”

  Sam sighed and sat in the wheelchair. Dr. Robinson produced some handcuffs from a pocket and fastened his hands to the armrests of the chair.

  “Sorry about this,” she explained. “Just can’t take any chances.”

  “May I push him to the elevator, Dr. Robinson? Please?”

  “Of course, dear.”

  Bethany beamed and proceeded to heave the chair out of the room and up to the double doors of the elevator. Dr. Robinson produced a ring of keys and used one to unlock the doors. Bethany pushed Sam inside and stepped back.

  “Good-bye, Sam,” she said. “See you later.”

  Sam smiled thinly as the doors began to close, but Dr. Robinson suddenly reached forward and shoved them back.

  “Why don’t you come with us, Bethany?” she asked.

  “But I’m not supposed to leave the basement.”

  “It’s not a basement, dear, it’s a clinic,” her voice sounded sharp and a little aggrieved.

  “I’m sorry. I’m not supposed to leave the clinic,” muttered Bethany quietly, her eyes cast down.

  “You’re a very good girl, Bethany,” said Dr. Robinson. “Why don’t we make an exception? I’m sure Dr. Wilson would like to see how well you’re doing.”

  “Really?” She was all smiles again, her blue eyes sparkling and the golden curls bobbing slightly.

  “Yes, really. Hop in, we don’t want to be late.”

  Bethany all but danced into the elevator as Dr. Robinson hit the button for the ninth floor. There was a brief pause before the aged machine made a loud clunking sound, followed by the grinding of gears and a high pitched rasp. For a moment, Sam thought they weren’t going anywhere, but slowly, slowly, the old box began to move, hauling itself painfully up on its venerable cables. He couldn’t help wondering if the cables were original and if anyone did anything to maintain them. He suspected not.

  “Right,” said Dr. Robinson, as the doors slid open to reveal a gleaming lobby. “Best behavior, everyone.”

  Bethany nodded earnestly and pushed Sam out and to the left. The ninth floor lobby had its own reception desk of honey-colored teak and a series of photographs on the walls, much faded with age, but apparently illustrating some of Hermes Industries’ past glories. There were a few pictures of scientists standing with men in suits in front of space ships at various stages of construction, then the ships disappeared and the scientists were pictured with huge memory cores and in laboratories with complex apparatus and scanning microscopes. Sam knew what that set of pictures was about. It was about Mutha, but the weird thing was that there was no evidence of the great hyperspatial analogicon itself in the lobby. Or anywhere else in the building, if the total lack of any headache or brain buzz was anything to go by. There wasn’t a single muthascreen, no kiosks, no tell-tale climate control boxes on the walls, nothing.

  He was still wondering why the company that created Mutha was the only place outside of the Wilds that didn’t take advantage of the technology, when Dr. Robinson came to a halt in front of a set of large wooden doors. She took a deep breath and knocked sharply.

  The doors slid open slowly to reveal a cavernous room with a deep blue carpet and a long, wooden, kidney shaped table behind which sat eight men and women of varying ages. All wore white coats and serious expressions, which did nothing to reassure Sam.

  “Dr. Matheson will be joining us shortly,” said a young man with cropped hair, indicating an empty chair in the center of the table. “But he said we should get started.”

  Dr. Robinson nodded to Bethany, who pushed Sam’s chair to a position in front of the empty seat.

  “Why is he in the chair?” asked one of the older ones, curtly.

  “The rovers were a little overenthusiastic with the phyroz
ene, I’m afraid,” explained Dr. Robinson. “But he’s coming on in leaps and bounds. Should be right as rain in a day or two.”

  “I don’t know why we do this,” grunted an elderly lady at the far end of the table. “Make them better. Surely it would be kinder to just let them slip away.”

  Sam wasn’t liking the direction this was taking one bit.

  “I’m sitting right here,” he said.

  The board looked up sharply.

  “I beg your pardon?” snapped the elderly lady.

  “You’re talking about me like I’m not here.”

  “What? But…”

  “I know!” said Dr. Robinson, gleefully. “He’s perfectly lucid. Isn’t it amazing!”

  “What’s amazing?”

  The voice was smooth and velvety and right behind Sam. The board all stood up as the door clicked shut and the man Sam assumed was Dr. Matheson strode to his seat. He was tall and square-jawed with the kind of ease that comes with power. His hair was thick and well-groomed and he wore a dark suit and no white coat. The rest of the board sat down again and the man with the cropped hair leaned forward.

  “He’s lucid, sir.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” he said.

  “It’s true,” said Robinson.

  Matheson grunted, then turned his attention to Sam, looking him up and down as if he were some kind of freak show exhibit.

  “Where are you from?” he barked.

  Sam stared at him. There was something about this man he didn’t like at all.

  “See? They can’t even answer simple—”

  “Here,” said Sam. “San Francisco, though I was raised in the Wilds.”

  All eyes turned to Matheson as he stared at Sam, thunderstruck.

  “You’re sure he’s pre-download?”

  “Absolutely,” said Dr. Robinson.

  “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.