Paradigm

by Helen Stringer

  The big man twisted around to deliver the blow, but Nathan shook his head.

  “No,” he said, his voice thick and rasping. “We can’t risk more damage.”

  Setzen glared at him, and seemed about to do it anyway, but turned back.

  “It’s the next turnoff,” he growled.

  Sam closed his eyes again. A truck passed going the other way, then a car. The car sounded terrible, kind of like the Vega. He wondered where Colby was and what he was going to do with his life now. Maybe he’d travel north and become a farmer or something. Settle down with a wife and kids. Sam had never wanted to stay in one place, but plenty of people did. He wondered if the old soldier would remember the wonderful, scary girl. He wanted someone to remember. If no one remembered it would be as if she’d never existed.

  “Oh, for God’s sake, shut up! I’ve never heard such endless rambling! Who gives a flying fuck about the stupid girl?”

  “I do. Don’t listen if you don’t like it.”

  “What?” Setzen looked back at Sam. “What the hell’s he talking about?”

  “I’m in his head,” said Nathan. “I can hear what he’s thinking.”

  “You’re what? Then…I don’t get it, why do we need the box?”

  “I’m just listening in, that’s all. I can deliver a jolt or two, but it’s not like this. Not like being in a shell.”

  “But the shells always die.”

  “He won’t. He was designed for me. Specially made.”

  It wasn’t a long distraction, but it was enough.

  “Wait…,” said Nathan, looking up at Sam through the rear view. “No! Shit! Shit! Shit!” He was banging the steering wheel now like a bad-tempered child.

  “Careful,” said Sam. “You’ll damage it and I don’t know where I’ll find another. Junk yards are pretty much picked clean. But you know that. Or Nathan did. Do you know that?”

  “Shut up! Shit!”

  “Told you the shell was failing. Won’t be long now.”

  “What is it? What?” asked Setzen.

  “He’s shut me out. Shit!”

  Sam wasn’t sure how he did it. The moment up on the rock was the first time—the first time he was conscious of it, anyway. It was like raising a drawbridge against an invader. Now that he understood how to do it, it should get easier. That is, if the pulse and digital devices were anything to go by. Not that it mattered. He had a feeling that once the box was open it’d be pretty much all over.

  Which was okay. He was tired and everyone he cared about was gone. Maybe the Rovers were right, after all.

  The car turned off the highway and jounced over what felt like dirt track, before finding paved road again. Sam looked up. The yellow sky was dark and acrid with smoke and oil. It coated his throat and made everyone in the car cough. Nathan rolled up the window.

  “Well, this pretty much sucks,” he said. “Why couldn’t we go back to Century City?”

  “There’s still some mopping up to be done,” said Setzen. “And the Commander wants to meet with the locals, set up systems.”

  “Huh,” muttered Sam. “Guess that’ll mean more of her lovely dinner parties.”

  “Maybe. But you won’t be seeing ‘em. Or will he? Will he still be in there when you…y’know.”

  “Don’t think so,” said Nathan. “I’m not sure. They were designed so that once I occupied the locule, the remaining human brain would just handle mechanics. Kind of like the brain stem does now. The shells don’t have locules, so I’m everywhere in them, which is kinda distracting. Hermes Research cancelled the program before I got to test it out. Bastards.”

  The car slowed down. Sam could see fencing, broken walls and the tops of shattered buildings. A soldier leaned down to speak to Nathan, then saw Setzen and sprang to attention.

  “Sir!”

  “Where’s the Commander?”

  “City Hall, sir. Straight down here. Grey building with columns.”

  “Aren’t they all,” muttered Sam.

  The car rolled forward, swerving frequently to avoid what Sam assumed must be chunks of the former city.

  “How many people died?” he asked.

  “It was their choice,” said Setzen. “They were given every opportunity to surrender.”

  A burst of automatic fire split the air.

  “What was that?” asked Nathan.

  “Examples,” said Setzen. “There always have to be examples. Lets people know where they stand.”

  A second burst. Closer now. Sam looked up at the smoke-filled sky.

  He was in hell and he wanted it to be over.

  The car turned again, then stopped. Nathan turned off the engine and sat for a moment.

  “This is it, Sammy,” he said. “After all these years. Shall we savor the moment?”

  “Can it and get out,” grunted Setzen.

  He flipped the passenger seat forward, cut the ropes tying Sam’s feet, and hauled him out. Nathan got the box from the trunk and held it cradled in his arms like a child. They walked up the steps to the main door where two sentries stood, tense and nervous.

  “Which room?” barked Setzen.

  “Second floor, third door, sir!”

  Setzen pushed Sam in front of him as they walked up the wide marble staircase and around a stately landing, before stopping at an ornate white door. He knocked sharply.

  “Enter!”

  Setzen opened the door and shoved Sam inside.

  It was pretty much like the mayor’s office in Century City: all deep carpets, heavy drapes and real wooden furniture. Sam guessed that it was probably the same in every city and town hall across the country. Only the colors and patterns would vary. This one veered toward dark green with beige highlights. The windows were taller, though, and opened onto a large balcony that had probably been designed as a stage for making speeches, but now framed the destruction of the city as if it were nothing more than an old movie.

  Carolyn Bast was standing behind the desk, maps and folders spread out in front of her. A group of scared-looking people clustered on the far side of the room, shifting uneasily as each tried to be at the back and out of Bast’s immediate line of sight.

  Sam soon saw the reason why. Slumped in a pale green wing-backed chair was the man who had presumably been the mayor. Like Century City’s version, he tended toward the plump, though he seemed to favor a more military mode of attire. Sam winced. It looked like Bast had been working on him for quite a while—his face and clothes were soaked in blood and he was making the same small, involuntary moaning sound as the banker in Century City.

  “Anything?” said Setzen.

  “Not yet,” said Bast, smiling. “Ah, Sam, here you are! And Nathan…what on earth happened to you?”

  “He killed the girl,” growled Setzen. “Our boy, here, wasn’t too happy about it.”

  “Hagger, Dryden, get the mayor out of here. I’ll finish with him later. And have these people wait outside.”

  The unhappy crowd was hustled out as the one called Hagger untied the mayor, slung him over his shoulder and followed. Bast pushed the chair aside and pulled another into its place.

  “Wouldn’t want you getting your clothes in a mess, would we?” she cooed. “Untie him, Setzen, and remove the coat. Take a seat, Sam.”

  Sam sighed and settled back in the chair, adopting his best couldn’t-care-less attitude. Although he did. Now that the moment had arrived.

  “It’s been a very long time since anyone got one over on me, Sam,” she said. “Under normal circumstances you’d be dead by now. Or in a great deal of lingering agony, depending on my mood. But perhaps this is worse. Where’s the box?”

  “Here,” said Nathan, handing it over.

  Bast took it and ran her fingers through his red hair and down the side of his bloodied face regretfully.

  “You’ve lasted remarkably well in this one.”

  “Yeah, it was strong. It’s failing now, though. And there’s a problem.”

  “A pr
oblem?”

  “He got rid of the key.”

  “But he can open it, can’t he? He was certainly able to stop me unlocking it the last time we met.”

  “I could,” said Sam. “But I’m not going to.”

  “You did see what happened to Dustin, didn’t you? I thought the lesson was quite clear.”

  “Go ahead. I don’t care.”

  He wondered if he sounded even remotely convincing. He was terrified. But he didn’t want her to see that. He wasn’t worried about the dying part, he just wasn’t sure about the stuff that would come first. That would be bad. Beyond bad. Letting Mutha into the world would be worse, though. And the rest would be over soon enough.

  “You think you’re safe because the plex needs your body,” said Bast. “But there are plenty of ways of being persuasive without doing very much damage at all. If the blade is sharp enough and the practitioner sufficiently expert.”

  She picked a small, slender knife up from the desk and leaned in until her face was almost touching his, whispering softly as if she were speaking to a lover.

  “And, Sam, darling, I am very, very expert.”

  “No,” rasped Nathan. “No! I don’t want him damaged!”

  Bast sighed and stood up.

  “Well, that’s annoying.”

  “Don’t listen to him,” growled Setzen. “Do it anyway.”

  “He is the client, Setzen. I’ll ask you again, Sam. Will you open the box?”

  “No.”

  “Fine. Setzen, would you mind going upstairs and bringing the package?”

  Setzen nodded and left. Sam saw Bast and Nathan exchange a slight smile, and for the first time, his resolution began to waver.

  “What is it?”

  “Have you ever noticed how many little bands of would-be rebels are lurking around the countryside, Sam?

  “I don’t know what you—”

  “Every one with its own conspiracy theories, it’s own ideas about how they’ll get everyone to rise up and fight…Hermes, me, whatever. No? Well, I have, and I make it my business to know theirs. No matter how united they think they are, there’s always someone who’s unhappy, resentful, bitter. Someone willing to do whatever it takes so that they can be in charge. Is this starting to ring any bells?”

  “Maybe.”

  “I heard that you’d spent a bit of time with one. An annoying little group in San Francisco City led by one of Matheson’s clones.”

  “What if I did? I wasn’t there for long enough to—”

  There was a sharp rap on the door and Setzen walked in. He was holding someone’s hand. It was a very small hand. Sam’s heart sank.

  “Sam!”

  She ran to him, jumped into his lap, and flung her arms around his neck.

  “I missed you! They said you were here. They said I’d see you and that I could have my own room.”

  Sam hugged her tight.

  “I missed you, too, Bethany.”

  Chapter 35

  “SEE, SAM?” CROWED NATHAN. “I told you her back-up plans had back-up plans.”

  “Do we understand each other?” asked Bast, softly.

  Sam nodded.

  She lifted Bethany from his lap and handed her to Setzen.

  “Sam will come up to see you later, dear,” she said. “But we have a little bit of business to take care of first.”

  “Okay. Can I have some more cake?”

  “Of course you can. Take care of it, Setzen.”

  “What am I, a nursemaid?”

  Bast shot him a glare and he stomped out.

  “Gently!” she shouted. “You’ll frighten the child!”

  The door clicked shut.

  “What are you going to do with her?” asked Sam.

  “I haven’t decided yet,” said Bast. “If you do as you’re told, she might live. If you refuse, she will most definitely die. And believe me when I tell you, she will die slowly, painfully, alone and very, very afraid.”

  Sam stared at her. It was over and they both knew it.

  “You see, Sam,” she said, her voice almost gentle. “You should never allow yourself to get attached. Once you start caring about people, you expose yourself to defeat. Keep your heart hard and your counsel close. That is the key to success.”

  “But not life.”

  “What?”

  “Because it’s true, isn’t it?” Sam suddenly felt calm. It was okay. It was all okay. “’Tis better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all.”

  “What’s that?”

  “It’s from a poem I read. I remembered it because it didn’t make any sense. But it does now.”

  “Open the box.”

  Sam glanced at the Paradigm Device and it immediately clicked open. He wanted her to know how easy it was. That it was nothing.

  The thing that had been Nathan practically squeaked with glee and hurried over with a small table that he placed at Sam’s elbow.

  “It’s very quick,” he said. “And it shouldn’t hurt. It’s what you were made for.”

  Bast placed the box on the table, opened the lid and removed a long cable.

  She needn’t have bothered. The effect was immediate and began as soon as the interior of the box was exposed. Sam’s head shot forward and then violently back against the chair as if he was in a car that had suddenly stopped. He gasped and watched as the room slowly faded from view.

  “It doesn’t need the cable!” said Nathan, exultantly, his voice sounding very far away.

  “Is it working?” Bast was peering into his face.

  Sam struggled to hold on. And then suddenly he understood. The box wasn’t the Paradigm Device, it wasn’t even an interface, it was just a switch. It was him. He was the Paradigm Device. The locule was both a safe haven for the plex and a window. A tiny opening to the place where Mutha lived—to hyperspace. That was how it got in, and why the unprepared shells couldn’t hold.

  He closed his eyes. The sensation of being in two places at once was too confusing and this wasn’t what he’d expected. He’d expected it to be quick, like turning off a light. One moment he would be him; and the next he would be gone. Like a house with a new owner. But it wasn’t like that.

  It was like a virus. Like the toxin from the fish. Only this time it wasn’t coursing through his body, but insinuating itself into his head—an actual organic thing. And he couldn’t just surrender. Not now that it came to it. He couldn’t give up. Because the part of him that was human, the part of him that was his mom and his dad and all the long line of men and women who had preceded them, would not let this thing just win.

  It was there and it was trying to spread. Threads, tentacles, feeling their way through his neurons, wrapping themselves around everything that made him Sam. Not Samuel. Not some acronym. A name. A real name. Sam. A guy. A person. That Sam.

  Then, just as he realized how it was coiling itself into him, there was a sensation of falling, of slipping away. This was it.

  This was the moment.

  He could just go.

  Cease to exist.

  Leave the earth and everyone on it to their own devices. That’s what Drake was going to do when his time came. That’s what lots of people did—give up on the future.

  He’d always hated that. It had seemed so selfish, so spineless. So easy.

  Had he really become that? He thought of Alma. She’d had more reason than most to just give up, crawl away and wait for the end. But she fought. She always fought. Sam remembered the way she’d looked the first time he’d seen her, taking on three men unarmed, because it “made it more interesting.”

  Maybe there was no way of defeating this thing, but now, thinking of Alma, he knew he wanted to fight. He had to fight. She might be gone, but he could still try to be worthy of her. Somewhere there was blue sky and stars and he wanted to see them. He was going to see them. He was not going to give up.

  He gritted his teeth and pushed back. And that was when he realized—it was in him, but he w
as also in it. The hyperspatial opening was right there. He could do to Mutha, to the great plex, what it was doing to him. Alma had been right. He was more than human. Not less. Not just a receptacle, a machine, a jar for something else to live in.

  He looked at it. Right at it. This malevolent tangle of shit, and he tore the entwining knots of Mutha’s matrices away. First just one at a time, then more and more. It was like clearing an invasive vine, ripping away every last strand, every root, every branch, every tiny element that might harbor the power of re-growth.

  And then the room started to come back. But he wasn’t in the chair. He was on the balcony, on his knees, throwing up. He stood up and steadied himself against the balustrade. He was drenched in sweat. There were voices behind him. Urgent voices. Below was the GTO, gleaming in the late afternoon light. There was Bakersfield City, a blackened ruin. Soldiers, trucks, jeeps, frightened people. A truck pulled up behind the goat. Two people got out.

  “Did it work?”

  That was Bast. He wondered what to do. Nathan, the thing in Nathan, would know that it hadn’t. He turned around slowly. Nathan was trying to speak, but the shell was breaking down too fast now. His tongue was swollen in his mouth, blood frothing at the corners, and the eyes had become cloudy and dead.

  Sam smiled. Bast knew the personality of Mutha. She’d experimented with enough of her men. Now Sam had to be that. Be what Nathan had been.

  “Did it work?” she repeated.

  “Of course it did,” said Sam, walking back into the room.

  Nathan staggered towards him, one arm extended, then tottered and fell forward. Instinctively, Sam caught him and gently lowered him to the floor. The clouded eyes could no longer see, but the battered face seemed different now. Sam tried to maintain his new persona and keep the tears from his eyes as Nathan’s swollen mouth struggled to form a word.

  “Lake,” he said, his voice almost inaudible. “Please…”

  Sam felt the life shudder out of the broken body. He wanted to kill her. To tear her apart. How could anyone…anyone do this to a fellow creature? But he knew he wouldn’t make it two steps across the room, so he just fastened on his best sociopathic smile again and looked up.