The Prayer Machine

by Christopher Hodder-Williams

  The forest was literally petrified. Endless rows of trees stood gaunt and rotten, where a century ago they had been rich from the vivid scent of healthy vegetation. Now, at their roots, a black death had attacked from within — the aftermath of chemical decay inherited from indiscriminate use of artificial soil-nutrients and hormones. On the barren tree-trunks, brittle pustules had grown out in sticky, wartlike moulds. They were coated with fungi … evil-looking mushrooms that fed on the last of the tree-sap and gave off a greenish mist. Krister said, ‘If you were outside this thing you’d be overcome by the foul, toxic odour. A bit like marsh gas … And there’s your plastic dump.’

  ‘How did it happen?’

  ‘A combination of several things. Bacteria strains, immune from antibiotics, found their salvation by combining with the polymers — a process which began, no doubt, in G Block … Just as you feared. Some catalystic process — perhaps those highly charged thunderstorms we get during the monsoons — established the first molecular change in the replication helix … Of course, PVC and its related plastics do not decay. The bugs live inside tiny plastic shells; and when one bug dies another takes over the shell. They feed on the residue of penicillin.’

  ‘Where did the penicillin come from?’

  ‘Originally? We found millions of disposable hypodermics in this dump — and others like it. Of these, some twenty per cent contained traces of antibiotics. The bugs contaminated the trees with them, where fresh moulds started to grow. One chance in ten million — but in the twentieth century they took more chances than that! It had to happen. The end-result was Intraplasta — plastic cancer to you.’

  Neil felt chilled as he remembered the rabbit. ‘Is there no cure?’

  ‘None. The human trog has no resistance. Unlike Forenthoris, it’s a quick, merciful death — takes about twenty-four hours for the plastic effigy to form. We do have a secret means of protection against it which I’ll tell you about later. I mean in our Village … one of the few places left on Dartmoor where human life goes on.’

  ‘Who for?’

  ‘Good question. The Forenthorics live there. And they have quite a mission in their short life. Penta will tell you all about it. She looks after them.’

  ‘On her own?’

  ‘She’s a member of the Samaritans. It’s an underground organization.’

  ‘Oh, yes.’

  ‘They existed in your day?’

  ‘Not as an underground movement.’

  ‘No?’ Krister thunk the speed down. ‘If you’re a Samaritan you have to be deadly careful what you communicon at an infopoint. I personally have to be careful even about Wels Narbiton, who’s as twofaced as an archaic village clock. Subconsciously he hates the very woman he claims to love.’

  ‘Penta?’

  Krister nodded as the magnecraft touched ground. ‘Penta has a child by him … a brilliant little boy of six. He plays the violin like an angel … Why are you looking at me like that?’

  Neil jerked his eyes away immediately. Evidently, it had never occurred to Kin that super-intelligence could imply latent Forenthoris so close to home. ‘I’d like to meet him and hear him play.’

  ‘You shall. But naturally he isn’t encouraged to come to the village … Try not to look shocked when you meet the Forenthorics. Understandably they’re rather sensitive. Let’s find Penta. I expect she’ll be in the cottage.’

  *

  Obviously the cottage was a period piece. There was even thatch on the roof. But once inside, you felt the place was alive and lived in.

  A hotchpotch of furniture from assorted periods offered comfort enough though the living room was choked with documents which were cheerfully disorganized. Few of these were Puter printouts. The spacious kitchen — complete with ceiling meat-hooks — might have been accused of being self-consciously rustic, but for the fact that Penta quite clearly used everything in it.

  At the moment she was laboriously working at an ancient manual typewriter — at least a hundred years old. She smiled up from it for a second but banged out the end of a paragraph on this Remington relic before she ripped the sheet of paper out and greeted them.

  For Neil this was a significant moment. There was something about Penta that was so unarguably real that any thought of Phrenic hallucination was wiped aside. If anything she was too solid to be classically beautiful. She simply radiated an uncomplicated warmth … uncomplicated in that she was, quite evidently, a researcher rather than a do-gooder. If there was compassion in her make-up it sprang not from pity but from an earthy quest for knowledge. Dispassionate observation was, for her, more meaningful than any sentimentality arising from remorse.

  She wore a much-laundered denim suit which failed to conceal her allure. Nor did her elegantly cool disposition fool Neil or anyone else that this mood was extended to the bedroom. The smoothness of her movements, the quality of her skin and the warmth of her welcome belied the note of business in her voice.

  Neil thought she was one of the most radiant people he’d ever met. Now, she said, ‘You must be someone a bit special. Kin doesn’t make a routine of bringing people here.’

  ‘Neil is an IoM contact.’

  She looked up at Neil, interested, slightly amused. ‘Not the PONFM?’

  ‘Correct.’

  She said, ‘I think we’ll open a bottle of wine on that tonight. Will it be printed with your … vintage?’

  ‘I doubt it. 1976 wasn’t a very good year.’

  ‘You seem to have kept pretty well.’

  Krister said, ‘When you two have finished flirting, we do have a slight problem. No intermesh.’

  ‘What about pseudo?’

  Krister said, ‘I’ve got one of the old type. I was hoping you’d teach Neil how to use it,’

  She asked Neil, ‘Any knowledge of programming?’

  ‘Not since FORTRAN, I’m afraid.’

  ‘FORTRAN? Outside of the science museum I’ve never come across it.’

  ‘I’m relying on you to get rid of the mothballs.’

  ‘It shall be done.’ And to Krister, ‘What about Wels Narbiton?’

  ‘He’s getting rapidly worse.’

  ‘Does he know about this?’

  ‘Enough to do plenty of damage if he feels like it.’

  ‘And does he?’

  ‘On the brink.’

  ‘Any use my seeing him?’

  Krister said, ‘I wouldn’t bother. He’s so bitter you wouldn’t communicon.’

  ‘I could see him on the pretext of taking young Juls along to visit him.’

  ‘Seeing his son might make him flip. The last time he mentioned you and Juls he accused you of turning him into a Sex-3.’

  Penta said thoughtfully, ‘Wels said this?’

  ‘Yes. Right-wingers like him always think that artists are Sex-3.’

  She said, ‘What’s so awful about a Sex-3? Better than no sex at all, isn’t it? When did Wels last — ?’

  ‘God’s Printout, I don’t know.’

  ‘What’s he brooding about nano? Stopping Juls’ state grant?’

  ‘He might.’

  Penta said, ‘Juls seemed worried about his end-of-term talkthrough. Asked a lot of odd questions. It could be that Wels is so twisted he’d scramble the future chances of his own son.’

  ‘Loveable Wels.’

  ‘Communicon …’ To Neil, ‘You’ll find it … orthodox … here. Doorthroughs with handles and so on. I’m due at the Food Centre but I’ll arrange for you to meet one or two of the Forenthorics later on. Meanwhile, make some coffee — your way. It can’t taste worse than ours.’

  Kin and Penta were just leaving the cottage when a distant rumble, a sort of shudder you felt rather than heard, rolled down from the hillside and freaked-out the valley. It had a frightening effect; for a moment the cottage ran back through history, its paintwork changing, furnishings transposed and substituted, window frames and curtains racing back through time, so that each minor modification to the cottage was revi
ewed momentarily. For those few seconds the image of Krister and Penta was a fixed tableau in silhouette. Neil found himself saying, ‘an Earthless Quake is an unstable impulse in a PONEM — a “thoughtquake”, surely?’

  *

  ‘What? What’s that you said?’

  ‘MENOP a ni eslupmi elbatsnu na si ekauqthguoht A.’

  Jane Schuber stared across at Ann Marie. ‘Can you understand him?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘How long has he been in the trance now?’

  Ann Marie checked the timer. ‘Almost seven minutes.’

  Jane said, ‘I don’t like it. Eve never known anyone go so deep.’

  ‘What about this backwards talking?’

  Jane shook her head. ‘Only Prentice does it. Eve never experienced it before.’ She bent down low over Neil. ‘It’s … like having an empty shell on the operating table. Sister, we’d better get hold of a second tape recorder.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘If we reverse the tapes on that one we might be able to understand what he’s trying to say.’

  ‘There’s a machine down at the Convent.’

  ‘There’ll be hell to pay if you’re caught taking that.’

  ‘There could be hell to pay without it.’

  ‘I see what you mean.’

  Jane said, ‘If Father Stillwell finds out —’

  ‘Father Stillwell can go to blazes.’

  ‘Ann Marie … coming from you that remark sounded … terrible.’ Ann Marie did not look contrite. ‘Father Stillwell specializes in condoning terrible things.’

  ‘G Block?’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘Ann Marie, don’t turn your back on him. Don’t.’

  The girl said nothing, but left the operating theatre to get the machine.

  *

  ‘Time is a clumsy thing,

  A broken sliderule wrapped around the stars,

  A measure of indifference

  To hope and despair. It is a string

  Trailing through the slime of history

  Collecting, as it goes,

  Globules of fate congealed;

  Reflecting not the images of Man

  But the implosion

  Of the ultra-violet skies …

  So Time does not move —

  We merely go past it.’

  *

  Neil gazed through the candlelight at Penta. ‘What strange poetry. Who wrote it?’

  ‘My son … More wine?’

  Neil slid his glass along the table top. ‘And he’s only six?’

  She didn’t answer but said, ‘What happened earlier on — Shortly after you arrived?’

  ‘A thoughtquake.’

  Krister said, ‘I had the impression that my very existence was in the balance.’

  Neil raised his glass. ‘It was. But only — I think — in my own mind.’

  Penta said, ‘Then surely, Juls’ poem is more than odd — it’s apt … We merely go past it. This morning we nearly did. In the wrong direction.’

  Neil said, ‘I refuse to believe you exist purely through my consent. That really is schizophrenia.’

  Krister said, ‘I might have accepted — this morning, Neil, when we were theorizing — that I might only exist in your own mind. What I can’t accept is that Penta does. Which is partly why I brought you out here.’

  Neil said, ‘I guessed that and I feel exactly as you do. Penta is utterly real.’

  ‘I’ll take that as a compliment.’

  Krister said, ‘A PONHM sounds like a very dangerous thing. I wish we didn’t have them … You’re surprised that Juls writes so well?’

  Neil chose his words carefully. Penta’s face, utterly without anxiety, seemed more alive for the sputtering of candles. She was real, and he could not implant a form of terror that she had evidently never entertained. He said eventually, ‘I’m no judge of art. But it does seem rather bright for a six year old.’

  Penta smiled as she got up to fetch the salad from the dresser. ‘You should hear him play.’

  Neil said a shade too quickly, ‘I’d very much like to. Has he made any records?’

  Krister was watching him intently. Penta returned to the table, making the candles flicker as she moved. She said, ‘Playdisks? Yes, he’s done the Brahms violin concerto.’

  Neil said, ‘I’m glad Brahms still has a following. But Juls could scarcely have chosen a more difficult piece. Which of you does he inherit such talent from?’ — It was the use of the word ‘inherit’ which was unfortunate.

  Krister picked up the word. ‘Inherit? Do you think the skilful handling of a violin is exclusively dictated by genes and chromosomes?’

  Neil said awkwardly, ‘It’s just that infant prodigies are rare.’

  ‘Quite.’

  Penta glanced from one to the other. ‘What’s going on between you two?’

  Kin Krister ignored the question. He said, ‘We should play Neil an example of Juls’ expertise. In the meanwhile maybe Neil would like to see the snapshot album.’

  Penta said, ‘Oh, come on. He won’t want to look at pictures of someone he’s never seen.’

  Neil said, ‘But I’m interested.’

  Krister said, ‘Well, you can’t see any detail by candlelight. I’ll start the generator. Then you can hear the playdisk also …’ He got up and left the room. Neil felt a constriction in his throat. Penta had sensed something and it showed. Conversation became stilted and banal. It was a relief when the engine outside started chugging.

  Penta said, ‘That’s how primitive we are here. No main supply.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘There are no power lines in Biotic Danger Zones. And we have to be careful about showing lights, too. The Regime doesn’t know about this settlement.’

  While Penta went round drawing the curtains Neil said, ‘But Kin said the police never come this far out.’

  ‘They don’t — by land. But they sometimes overfly.’

  ‘That’s something I haven’t seen — aeroplanes.’

  The lights flickered and came on. Penta said, ‘Aircraft are rare because of the effluence. Carbon dioxide is rising in the atmosphere all the time. Aircraft are reserved for special permit holders — and there aren’t many of them.’

  Krister returned, said nothing, but went to a cabino and got out a playdisk. Astonishingly, it was a conventional long-playing record. Krister saw Neil’s expression. ‘As you say: some things don’t change. Only the people change. If you know what I mean.’

  Penta’s smile was clouded. ‘I wish I did.’

  Krister rummaged round in the cabino and found the snap album. ‘Here you are. Take a long, hard look.’

  Penta leaned over and flicked the pages. The pictures were all in 3-D and almost seemed to leap out at you from the album. She selected a shot and Neil held it up to the light. Penta said, ‘That’s him. As you see he’s at a group music playthrough. Learning, that is.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘At the Exeter College.’

  ‘Is that where he lives — in Exeter?’

  Penta said expressionlessly, ‘He can hardly live here. The village is merely a haven for Forenthorics …’

  The picture showed a normal enough youngster with a violin tucked under his chin. The instrument seemed enormous, ‘though,’ Penta explained, ‘it’s only three-quarter size.’ The face was certainly highly intelligent and showed intense concentration. There was no frown, no telltale lines on the face.

  Penta leafed over a few more pages, glancing up at Kin almost angrily. She could sense the tension and still didn’t know what it was all about. ‘Here he is at his London debut — with the London Symphony Orchestra. You can see that there he is playing a full-sized instrument.’

  ‘At the age of six?’

  ‘At the age of six.’

  Neil said, ‘Can I take the two pictures out of the album for a minute?’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I’d like to compare them.’

  Th
ere were definite frown-lines on the more recent picture — nothing spectacular, but surprising in a boy of that age. The small hand on the fingerboard was mighty strong; and faintly lined, more like an adult’s. But it could have been that the print had too much contrast.

  Krister said, ‘Well?’

  Neil said, ‘I think he must be extremely talented. Mature poetry into the bargain! I’d not only like to hear him play, I’d like to meet him.’

  ‘Meet him — or examine him?’

  Penta said angrily, ‘Kin. I want to know exactly what’s so dramatic about one of Juls’ concerts. It’s by no means his first. So what is it? Is Wels Narbiton making more trouble than I know? Or what?’ She snatched the pack of harmfrees and took one out, leaning forward to light it from a candle.

  Neil could see the abrupt change in the face. Before there hadn’t been a blemish on it. Now, somehow, her features seemed sunken.

  Krister said, ‘I promise you I don’t know anything more than I’ve already told you.’

  ‘Know? What do you mean know? What is knowing?’

  Krister said, half to Neil, half to her: ‘In diagnosis, knowing is the process of finding out something you only suspected before. Isn’t that right, Neil?’

  Neil said quietly, ‘Are you blaming me for it?’

  Penta burst out, ‘God damn the both of you!’ and rushed out of the room. Neil heard her running up the stairs. Then a door slammed. There was silence.

  Krister said, “That’s the first time in my life I’ve ever seen Penta really upset.’

  ‘And what you’re trying to do is to place the responsibility firmly on my shoulders. You think I came here —’

  ‘— out of guilt. What other motive could you have for risking your sanity forever by agreeing to raw TNA?’

  Neil said shakily, ‘I’m just as horrified — and almost as ignorant — as you are.’

  ‘But you worked in G Block — you suspected something about the side-effects of the work you were doing —’

  ‘I never worked in G Block. If you weren’t so upset and scared for Juls you wouldn’t overreact.’