by Nick Wilford
Tap.
About half a minute later, Salkeson came back in looking like the world had smacked him in the face. Actually, she thought, that was just what his face was like.
“That windbag Histender just loves the sound of his own voice,” he said, not looking at her. “And some of us have got work to do.”
He sat back down in his seat and started scrolling through his reports again. She held her breath. This was the moment it was likely to all unravel.
He frowned, and her gaze flicked rapidly between his increasingly perplexed features and the screen, her stomach coiling in on itself. This was the worst she’d felt since she’d been infected.
The report she’d written now filled the screen.
“What... is... this?” he said with jaw clenched, grinding the words out between his teeth.
She sat still, her face impassive, waiting for his next move.
“Is this some sort of joke?”
Now doubt crept in. What if nothing happened? Even if people believed the message, there wasn’t really anything they could do against a faceless government. They couldn’t storm the headquarters because they didn’t know where it was. But... what about Wellesbury’s parents? How would they react?
“I wish it was,” she said, trying to keep her voice calm. “But this is the reality of things, as you well know yourself. Wellesbury Noon is my friend, and this government is prepared to let him die to make an example of what happens when you talk to a so-called demon. But there are no demons, just people less fortunate than ourselves.”
Salkeson was staring at her as if she’d grown an extra head. “Who are you?”
“I’m someone who happens to have found out the truth, who they thought they could contain by fast-tracking into the power structure. That was their mistake, but I think yours was leaving me alone with your computer terminal,” she said, unable to keep the smirk from her lips.
“Well, you’re on your way home. I’ve called for security,” said Salkeson, his shaking hands betraying the fact he was fearing for his own future.
“That’s okay. I think my work here is done for the day.”
Chapter 17
“Right, okay, I’ve got it. Here’s what to put in the next bulletin.”
Histender’s fat fingers gripped the back of his chair, as if he was holding up his own bulk. Another emergency meeting had been swiftly called, less than half an hour after the previous one. All the usual subjects were again present; notably, Gennikin, Tindleson, Salkeson and Dontible, who had been issued with a warning to severely discipline his daughter. No decision had yet been taken on whether to send her back to the Centre, but she was to stay at home the next day rather than attend her placement in the Science department. That was now felt to be a very bad idea all round.
“An activist on a work experience placement managed to infiltrate the computers in the Communications Department and send out an erroneous statement,” he dictated to Salkeson. “The young person concerned, previously thought of as a brilliant new addition to our glorious Government, has been sent for correction now her deranged ideas have been discovered.”
Dontible’s arm went up.
“No, Dontible, I know she hasn’t gone back there. It didn’t exactly work the last time, and I’m at my wit’s end. You have a lot of work to do with her this evening, to put it lightly.
“Now, as I was saying... we are worried about some kind of mass protest concerning the Noon boy. Such a thing has never happened, but then a crisis such as this has never occurred. We are going to have to produce him to show that he was never ill, he was simply undergoing extensive correction therapy after his experience with the demon. Tindleson, you get on to this right away. I just wish I knew what to do with him afterwards.”
Gennikin coughed. “The reports are that Examiner Tharl at the Centre is frustrated at the lack of progress, to say the least. I recommend releasing him, to show our benevolence, with the warning that if he steps out of line again, the consequences will be far worse.”
Tindleson shuddered. That was one procedure he absolutely detested - altering the genetic code back to a state in which the subject could feel pain.
“Okay,” said Histender, roaming around the table. “That’ll have to do. And, obviously, reinforce the fact that the demon intruder is exactly that - not a human at all. I think that’s the best we can do in terms of damage limitation. I understand the little rat has still not expired, and I wish he’d get on with it.”
*
After Wellesbury’s mad dash through the Centre and that life-affirming kiss, Kitson had caught up with him and frogmarched him back to his room. He had no strength to put up any sort of fight, and what would be the point? If he tried to escape the Centre, he’d be tracked down in no time.
He was thrown back into the room and heard the door hiss closed as quietly as ever, but some ancient cultural resonance made it sound like a colossal, echoing clang. No surprise that he hadn’t been taken to the planned appointment with the Examiner. Finally, they had realised that he was beyond redemption.
He was the one who had gone to see Mallinger in the first place, and he who would have – in their eyes – coerced Ezmerelda to travel to Fusterbury, or the Under-Region. She was the daughter of a government adviser, and therefore, so he hoped, much more worthy of being saved. But would that achieve anything? He didn’t even know if it was possible to cure her, in which case his own death couldn’t come quick enough.
If he focused all his mental energy on her surviving – and in the process convincing them that this was a human disease, not an infection by demons, and those they had met in the other world were just as worthy of being saved – it might just come true. After all, mental concentration on the destination was all that was required in order to travel through the wormhole. It was a long shot, to say the least, but what else did he have?
On the other hand, he didn’t even know if he’d passed the infection on. In which case, they were no further forward, except he’d sealed his own fate.
Wellesbury didn’t eat that night. Everything just came straight back up. He slept restlessly, not deep enough to dream, but whenever he awoke he saw Ezmerelda’s face floating in front of him. More than once it was contorted in pain from the disease, and it felt as certain as the solid feeling in his guts that he had done this to her and they were both doomed. And what about Mallinger?
A couple of days later - or so he guessed, he had been alone the entire time - his door opened and Kitson stood there. Wellesbury had been writhing on the bed, feeling another attack coming on, as if movement would stave it off. Peering closer, he could see the disgusted look on the escort’s face.
Maybe he was being taken to the prison to die. Although he couldn’t see what the difference would be from staying here.
“Get up, boy.” Kitson practically spat the words. “You’re being shipped out of here.”
Wellesbury managed to roll his legs over the side of the bed and get into an upright position, wincing at the stabbing pains that fought against him. He sat there waiting for the stars to clear from his vision, but Kitson had other ideas.
“Come on, come on. I haven’t got all day!”
A hand grabbed him roughly under the armpit, wrenching him upwards. The escort then wrapped his hand easily under his upper arm, wasted and puny from the disease. Wellesbury couldn’t imagine how he’d managed to punch him. Must have been running on pure adrenaline.
Wellesbury staggered, and threw up. He watched as some of it landed on Kitson’s boot for a fraction of a second before vapourising.
“Revolting creature,” said Kitson, his mouth twisted in a snarl, and started to drag Wellesbury to the door.
“S-so where am I going?” said Wellesbury, finding his feet. The realisation he was going somewhere away from Kitson suddenly made whatever awaited him appear infinitely more appetising.
“Not my job to tell you, but I’m not happy about it. You’ll find out soon enough. There’s a
hovercar waiting outside. Good riddance, that’s all I can say.”
“And it was nice to make your acquaintance too, Kitson.”
“Don’t act smart, boy. It doesn’t suit you.” The escort shoved him into the lift that would take them to the world above.
In the lobby, they went through the signing out and handing over rigmarole, with the very same decrepit old man who had been there when Wellesbury arrived. He looked a hundred and twenty at least, one of the oldest people he’d seen. He probably hadn’t left the Centre in years. Well, he was going to die here, any day now probably.
They travelled back to the city, entered through a secret door in the wall, and started heading down a slope. They had a thing for building places underground, these secret government types. If some sort of freak event wiped out everything on the surface of the world, they wouldn’t have any problems.
To get to the science department, Wellesbury had to go through what they called an airlock. The guard pressed buttons on a wall panel, had a brief conversation with a jovial man on the screen, and then the door slid back, revealing a small chamber.
Wellesbury stepped in, and a second later the door on the opposite side of the chamber opened. No one was waiting for him on the other side; it was a large room with lots of men and women in white coats working around various machines. However, he became aware that one of these people – the man who’d been on the screen – was pushing his way hurriedly towards him through the crowd.
“Ah, Master Noon!” said the man, who was now in front of him, taking his hand and pumping it almost before Wellesbury knew what was happening. He actually took a step back in the face of the overwhelming chirpiness. It felt like sensory overload to go from near-solitary confinement, to this bustling room and this enthusiastic man. He could feel himself beginning to weaken.
“I see I got you here not a moment too soon,” the man went on. “You don’t look in a good way, my boy. Let’s head straight to the stasis chamber while I introduce myself.” He put an arm around Wellesbury’s shoulders to steady him, and urged him forwards gently but firmly. Again, a world away from Kitson’s treatment. Hang on... what was a stasis chamber?
“My name is Dr George Tindleson, Chief Scientist for the Supreme High Government. In case you’re wondering, a stasis chamber is a pod where you’ll be put in a state of suspended animation, all your systems shut down so we can get to work on you.” The scientist glanced at him, and went on, “No need to be alarmed! You’re here so we can get that horrible virus flushed out of you once and for all. Then you’ll be back to your old self.”
“You’re going to... cure me?” What was happening? He was struggling to take it in. “I didn’t even know it was possible. I thought I was going to die in that Centre.” So did this mean...? He mentally crossed his fingers that she was being cured too.
Tindleson seemed to have access to the much-vaunted thought-reading technology. “I’ll fill you in on what happened later, but suffice to say it has something to do with the plucky daughter of a government adviser. She’s fully recovered from a successful surgery, and looking as healthy as can be. A lovely girl, who thinks very highly of you, it appears.”
The churning in Wellesbury’s gut seemed to transform into a ball of energy which spread wellbeing to every fibre of his body, as if he’d been cured already. Ezmerelda was safe! And now she’d got him here. But how did she have the authority to do that?
Before Wellesbury could ask anything else, they had reached a door on one side of the room. There were many like it in every wall. Tindleson opened the door with a wave of his hand.
“Welcome to the stasis suite,” he said, guiding Wellesbury inside.
“Hang on,” he said. “It’s Ezmerelda Dontible you’re talking about, yes? Can I see her?”
“There’ll be plenty of time for that,” said Tindleson, flashing a grin and a wink. “We need to get started here right away. You’re extremely weak; I can tell you that without even scanning you. I just need you to change into this gown.” He handed Wellesbury a folded garment. “There’s a waste compartment in the corner; use the vapouriser if you need to. As quick as you can!”
Wellesbury started forward, but staggered on his feet. Tindleson supported him again to get to the partitioned-off corner section of the room. He opened the door, and Wellesbury went in, clutching the pile of cloth. He sat down heavily on the bench, watching Tindleson’s friendly, open face disappear as the door shut.
He’d never met an adult like that before.
After shaking it open, the gown turned out to be a long, shapeless piece of material that reached almost to his ankles. He looked at the waste disposal unit, and his gut kicked up again, causing him to be violently sick. His whole body shook, almost as if the infection was making a defiant last stand. So it was going to be gone? He couldn’t process that. It felt secondary to the excitement of seeing Ezmerelda again, and knowing she was alright.
He’d done it. He’d got them both away from the Centre, but now what? It was paramount that they didn’t just end up straight back there.
Re-emerging from the compartment, he saw the scientist was busily tapping buttons and checking levels on a control panel on one of the large glass tube-like constructs that occupied the room.
“Ah, Wellesbury,” he said, not looking up. “Just making sure the tank’s ready. Before I put you in it, I’ll just explain as briefly as I can what we’re going to do.”
Wellesbury listened while Tindleson explained about the genetics and the nanobots, but he wasn’t really taking it in. It was mostly over his head, but he did grasp the explanation as to why people couldn’t come to harm. No wonder everyone loved the government... or seemed to.
A more pressing concern was speaking to Ezmerelda, to discuss their next move. Mallinger was the one they had to help next, if it wasn’t already too late. Would that be possible? Would this scientist listen to their reasoning that he wasn’t a demon at all, but just a boy? He was certainly friendlier than most adults, but that didn’t mean he would take them seriously. He would have to toe the party line like everyone else.
“...eradicate it and you’ll be stronger than ever,” finished Tindleson, just as Wellesbury was tuning back in. Well, that sounded good.
“Any questions?”
Wellesbury shook his head. He almost asked whether Tindleson would help Mallinger, but swallowed the words, deciding it would be better to wait until after his own treatment.
“That’s excellent. Your friend Ezmerelda was somewhat nervous about the little nanobots, but I’m glad to see you’ve no such qualms. Now, if you’d just like to climb in and make yourself comfortable...” He was pressing a button which slid the lid of the tube off so it hung down at one side.
There were three steps at the side of the chamber, which he climbed before stepping into the capsule and stretching out. It was lined with some comfy, synthetic material at the bottom. Hopefully this wouldn’t take too long. He felt like going to sleep, but he had picked up enough of Tindleson’s spiel to know that would be taken care of.
Chapter 18
Wellesbury woke up in the stasis tube and immediately knew he was cured. His head was clear again; the churning in his guts had gone. He waited while Tindleson slid back the glass lid.
“You can get out now,” said the scientist, but Wellesbury was already upright and starting to manoeuvre himself over the side of the container. “How do you feel?”
“Just like my old self.” It was like he could suddenly think much more clearly too. He wanted to go and find Ezmerelda right now, save Mallinger. Where to start?
A thought occurred to him. “Thank you, Doctor,” he said.
“You’re welcome.” Tindleson gave him another wink.
“So, what happens now?”
“I heard from my superiors while you were under. They don’t consider it necessary for you to go back to the Centre. However, you need to wait until they come and speak to you, before you can go home.”
Wellesbury breathed a sigh of relief. He couldn’t do anything if he was at the Centre. Did Ezmerelda have anything to do with this?
Once again causing Wellesbury to suspect he had access to the thought-reading technology, Tindleson said, “Before they arrive, I’d like to speak to you myself about the progress of your friend Ezmerelda. We’ll sit in my office. Go and get changed first; you’ll find fresh clothes behind the screen.”
Wellesbury quickly changed out of the surgical gown. It would be great to hear how Ez was doing, but the subject he really wanted to broach was Mallinger.
The scientist was waiting when he came out, and led him out of the stasis suite and through another door in the wall of the lab, into a room that assaulted his senses with a riot of unfamiliar colour.
Before he could ask questions, Tindleson raised his hand. “We don’t have much time. I’ll get straight to the point.
“Now, the reason you’re sitting here and, indeed, still enjoy the prospect of a long and healthy life is down to young Ezmerelda. After you pulled off the trick of infecting her, she was brought here immediately - they saw here as being more important, I’m sorry to say.”
“No problem,” said Wellesbury. “That was the plan, and I’m glad it worked. Then at least one of us would have survived.”
Tindleson smiled. “A gallant, if risky, move. The young lady is more valuable than you realise. They see her as a candidate for a top position at the government, as long as your inquiring mind can be moved in the right direction. They see you as nothing more than a troublemaker who led her astray, and their idea was to make an example out of you by leaving you at the Centre.”
“Until I died.”
Tindleson looked straight at him. “Putting it bluntly, yes.”
He sat motionless for a few minutes. That was the government. And what was he supposed to do now, go home and be quiet? Because they held the power of life or death over him?
