Wolf Logic

by Masha du Toit

  The lesson turned out to be perfect for Gia’s needs. Sergeant Abrahams wanted them each to have a turn with the scanner and the printer. The ones who were waiting for their turn were kept busy going over the basics they’d already learnt. Gia volunteered to go first, so she had the entire session in which to do her own work.

  Mrs Solomons’ account seemed to be the best place to start. Gia typed in the name and password combination, holding her breath until the screen responded and she had access.

  Where to start? She realised that she only knew the children’s first names and didn’t even know how old they were, or anything else she could search by.

  That will just have to do. She typed “Mienkie” into the search box and was immediately rewarded with a long list of results. Mienkie’s surname was Patel and she was four years and some months old. But at first there was nothing else that seemed useful, until she spotted a sub heading named “correspondence_parents”.

  But isn’t she supposed to be an orphan? With a quick glance to check that Sergeant Abrahams was still suitably occupied, Gia accessed the folder and opened one of the documents. It was an official-looking letter with the Valkenberg letterhead. Gia was reminded of the letter her family had received, demanding that she and Nico come in for testing. But this was a different kind of letter entirely.

  Dear Mr and Mrs Patel

  We regretfully inform you that your daughter, Mienkie, has not recovered from the initial infection as we had hoped and that there have been secondary infections that have caused some grave complications. In fact, her condition has deteriorated to a great extent and the prognosis is, unfortunately, not good. Dr Moore has told us that at this stage there is very little chance that she will regain consciousness again and that in fact, to all intents and purposes, your daughter is now in a persistent vegetative state from which she is unlikely to recover.

  Understanding the immense shock and sorrow that this event must mean to you, we have arranged that Valkenberg will be responsible for all the medical costs incurred up to this point and in future, for as long as your daughter is in our care. We have included a brochure with the names and contact details for some therapists that you may wish to contact to help you in this difficult time; also, of course, at our expense.

  Please note that this offer of financial assistance with your daughter’s considerable and on-going medical expenses is reliant on your abiding by our standing agreement, that is, to keep all details of your daughter’s stay here at Valkenberg strictly private. Any undiplomatic behaviour on your part will render our offer of financial assistance null and void and will, in addition, expose you to legal action.

  Sincerely,

  Helena Solomons

  Gia read this with an increasing sense of unreality. The formal language conjured up an image of a hospital bed surrounded by medical equipment, doctors and nurses efficient in their care of...who? Mienkie Patel, the little girl she’d seen only yesterday, was certainly not in a persistent vegetative state, whatever that meant, exactly. Could she have recovered?

  There were a few letters dated later than the one she’d just read, but none were an announcement of a miraculous recovery. Going back to the first letter, Gia re-read the final lines. She was sure she understood that part, at least. Mienkie’s parents were being told to keep quiet, not to make trouble, or else. She typed another search term.

  Lungile.

  Once again, the pages of results. Lungile Motsisi, age 7 years, three months. Once again, there was a folder named “correspondence_parents”.

  Dear Mrs Motsisi.

  We regretfully inform you that your son, Lungile, has not recovered…

  It was the same letter. The exact, same letter with only the name and the references to “daughter” changed to “son”. Gia shivered. They hadn’t even bothered to write a new letter. Just copied the same one…

  Further searches revealed that Joseph’s parents too, had received a similar letter, although this one was a little different. Joseph’s parents, it seemed, had not been quite so easy to intimidate and it had taken a few more increasingly pointed threats of legal action before they subsided.

  Patrick and Peet, being brothers, Gia supposed, shared a correspondence folder and the letters here were different. They acknowledged the receipt and signing of formal documents and from the wording Gia guessed that these had to do with signing over legal guardianship of the boys to Captain Witbooi. Maybe their parents were only too willing to get rid of their strange children. Peet had certainly seemed like a handful.

  Gia became aware that the cadets around her were getting up. The session must be at an end.

  “You doing okay there, cadet? Need help with something?” said Abrahams.

  “No, thanks, ma’am,” Gia said quickly. Then she had an idea. “Um, I’d like to have another go at practising what we learnt today. Would it be okay if I stayed behind and went over the scanning and printing stuff again? And some of these exercises?”

  “Absolutely!” said Abrahams. “I’ve got some work to catch up myself, so I’ll be in front here if you have any questions.”

  As soon as Abrahams was seated at her machine, Gia risked another search.

  Lee.

  Strange that she’d never thought about what Lee’s first name was, but here it was, along with many pages of information.

  Branwynn Lee

  Although there was a lot of information, most of it didn’t mean much to Gia. She guessed these were details of projects Cadet Lee had been involved in but there was no correspondence folder. Looking at the dates, she realised Mrs Solomons either had not been at Valkenberg, or had not been involved with Cadet Lee when Lee had been in the Children’s Unit.

  Well, can’t put it off any longer. Time to take a look at the captain’s records.

  Gia brought up the password box and fighting down her nerves, typed in the captain’s name and the password she had memorised.

  B D Witbooi

  Amy24

  The little box pulsed its denial, making Gia jump as if she’d been jabbed. She stared at it, wondering what to do next. Just leave it? But now that she’d started she didn’t want to give up so easily. Captain Witbooi must have changed his password. Something Sash had said floated up in her memory.

  “They don’t like changing their passwords. Or otherwise they just change the number at the end. You understand?”

  It was worth a try. She changed the password to “Amy25”.

  Denied.

  But Gia was determined now. One more try.

  Amy26

  She was braced for another denial but to her relief, the little box disappeared and the screen was filled, once again, with data. Captain Witbooi’s account was arranged rather differently than Mrs Solomons’ but at last Gia found a folder labelled Lee_Clough.

  The dates of some of the earliest documents corresponded to the years Gia guessed Lee had been in the Children’s Unit. The name “Branwynn” appeared on more than one file, but always connected to another name. Clough, Branwynn.

  They must have changed her surname.

  She nearly missed seeing the letter because it was a picture file, not a regular text document like Mrs Solomons’ letters had been. Captain Lee, it seemed, preferred to write his correspondence by hand and then scan the letters in. But here, at last, it was. And it was exactly what she’d guessed. The wording was different, but the message the same.

  Dear Gwyn and Marvin,

  I don’t think that this letter will come as a surprise after our last meeting, although I can only imagine the pain it will cause you. For that I am deeply sorry and you have my profoundest regret and deepest sympathy. I have met with Dr Motlana and he confirmed what we already guessed. There is no way to say this gently, so I will cut to the chase. Little Branwynn is not showing any signs of recovering from the massive stroke she suffered after your last visit. The doctor tells me that there is little or no chance that she will ever recover. In fact, she has deteriorated so far that it
is indeed now an academic point whether she is, in fact, still alive. Her heart beats and she’s breathing, but the other signs all point to the fact that her brain is irreparably damaged and that, in fact, she is no longer with us in any real sense.

  As you know, this was one of the possible outcomes of her condition—although we did hope that she would beat the odds. I would like you to know that although we only had her in our care for a few short weeks, it was an honour to get to know this brave and special child and I, for one, will always remember the happier days when she was still with us.

  There is another matter that I would like to touch on, much as I hesitate to introduce such worldly matters at a time like this. You are probably concerned about the costs involved in Branwynn’s treatment, as well as the potential of an on-going expense of her medical care. Please accept our offer to pay all costs in full and to take on any further costs that may be incurred by keeping her body alive for as long as you choose.

  Yours in sympathy

  Captain B Witbooi

  Gia stared blankly at the screen. She felt as if she’d eaten something rotten, bitten into a fruit only to see it filled with crawling worms. Worse than worms. A look at the clock told her that she was about to miss supper, but she didn’t want to stop now.

  I wonder if Lee knows about this letter. But why should she? She probably thinks her parents—how had Nurse Richards put it? Signed over their rights. Gave her to the Children’s Unit.

  A further search revealed more letters and Gia gathered that while little Branwynn’s parents had made some effort to be allowed to see their daughter again, they had finally given up and emigrated to Holland.

  For a long time, Gia stared at the computer screen, wondering what she should do with this information. Then a clicking noise attracted her attention and she frowned at the keyboard. Her eyes widened in surprise. One of those keys moved all by itself. And there goes another one!

  Unable to believe her eyes, she glanced up at the screen and saw the letters appear there as though typed, although she was not touching the keyboard.

  gi… and yes, there it went, the “a” key was wobbling a little and then dipped.

  gia

  It was Mienkie again. It had to be. Or could it be something more sinister? Could this be some security feature of the computer system, reacting to her illicit intrusions? But that seemed unlikely. She placed her fingers on the keys, half expecting them to tingle, or shock her, or show some evidence of their strange behaviour. Nothing happened, so she typed: Mienkie?

  She was just starting to think that nothing more would happen when she allowed her gaze to drift down from the screen and looked at the keyboard again. Instantly, the keys started moving. First, an “n”, then an “i”… nico

  So it can only do this when I’m looking at the keyboard? Is it—is she using my eyes, somehow? And she wants to tell me something about Nico. Again, she placed her fingers on the keys and typed quickly. Do you know something about Nico?

  And how on earth could that child know anything about her brother? But if she was a telepath, maybe she had somehow read Gia’s thoughts? She remembered the little girl’s words: “Who’s the boy? How did he get there?”

  It hadn’t struck her at the time, but maybe Mienkie had somehow picked up her worry about her brother? The keys moved again. It was strange, watching them dip, each one in turn to spell out their message.

  i ok

  That didn’t fit. Gia frowned. She must be misunderstanding this, somehow. She typed: How do you know about Nico?

  There was a long pause. Then the keys began moving. nico nico nico nico nicoam neer see montin train road?? trac train trac

  What did that mean? She must have got it wrong after all. This was some kind of random ghost inhabiting the computer. She’d heard about those, although she didn’t think the Special Branch computers would be vulnerable to them.

  She typed again: Are you Mienkie?

  no no no noco nooiic cc

  The thing seemed to be losing coherency now. Maybe it was one of those electronic ghosts after all. But here came another message.

  pippl tuk mi nims bile spykr heetim plyc neer see train montin

  If it was Mienkie maybe she was losing control, getting tired. As if in response to her thought, the keys moved under her fingers again.

  sleepi go now

  Gia waited, but there were no more messages. As she waited, she read the correspondence she’d found again. It was clear that she’d found something important, something that could be used in a fight against Special Branch. But how could she let anyone else know about this? There was the parasite programme, of course. That would be an easy way to get this information out of Valkenberg. After all, she needed somebody else to look at what she’d found, to tell her what it meant and how it could be used.

  But she could not send this to the Belle Gente. After everything she’d done to keep Nico safe from the Belle Gente, she couldn’t expose Mienkie and the other children to the same dangers, but she couldn’t just log out and leave it. Chances were good that the passwords would be changed again and maybe this time to something not quite so easily guessed. She needed proof of what she’d found.

  There was no other way.

  After a look to check that Abrahams was not watching her, Gia typed in the command that would send the letters to the printer.

  The Midnight Row

  “...and the cadets who must report for patrol duty this morning are cadets Motsepe, Mayer and Grobbelaar.”

  “You so lucky, Zacky,” said Vetkoek as soon as Naudé had left, elbowing Gia in the ribs and nearly making her spill her coffee. “I can’t wait to go on patrol. So cool!”

  To her surprise, Gia realised that she shared Vetkoek’s excitement. It would be good to get out of Valkenberg and she had to admit that she was curious what it was like to ride on one of the enormous Special Branch trucks. She hurriedly ate the rest of her breakfast and got rid of the dishes, eager for the day to start. On her way out of the building, she saw Cadet Lee coming up the outside steps.

  “Morning, Grobbelaar.” Lee lifted a hand to shade the slanting early morning sun. “Message for you from Captain Witbooi.”

  “Morning, ma’am,” said Gia.

  Seeing Lee made her think of what she’d discovered the night before. Did Lee know that her own parents thought she was—what. Brain dead? Or in a coma?

  “You are to be at the main gate at seventeen thirty this afternoon,” said Lee, “in your formal uniform, to meet the car that will pick you up. You are to be back with us tomorrow morning at six at the very latest, ready to resume your duties. And the captain says to remember that you are an ambassador for the Youth Brigade and Special Branch and that Luxulo Langa will judge all of us by your conduct.”

  “Yes, ma’am!”

  A faint smile touched Cadet Lee’s lips and she lifted one eyebrow. “Luxulo Langa, hey? You better watch your step. On your way, cadet.”

  As she made her way to the wolf cages for her morning shift, Gia’s mind was whirling. So the visit to Kavitha was really happening. And if she was to stay away overnight it must mean that she would be going home. It was dizzying to think of seeing her father and Mandy again. She’d have to remember to take the printouts with her when she went. They were relatively safe, slid into a gap behind one of the toilet cisterns, but it would be much better to get them off the premises completely.

  -oOo-

  “Watch it with that mop, cadet,” said Sergeant Kemp. “Better switch on your torch now.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Gia swung the mop handle in a direction she hoped was away from the sergeant. She found the button on the torch that was strapped to her forehead. Its red light revealed that Sergeant Kemp was unlocking the inner door of the light-lock.

  “Right, cadet.” Kemp straightened, slipping the keys back in her pocket. “You got your radio and your stunner. Did you check that they’re both charged?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

&nb
sp; “You shouldn’t have any trouble. Don’t let those buggers rattle you, right? They’ll say anything to get a rise out of you.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Gia picked up the buckets, tried not to drop the mop, and stepped out of the light-lock. The door shut almost on her heels. For a moment she stood there, staring into the dark.

  The midnight row. This was the first time she was in here alone. The torch was too weak to show much beyond arm’s reach. The metal grid of the cages on either side of her was clearly visible, but the rest receded into darkness. She was glad of the reassuring weight of the stunner on one hip and the radio on the other.

  Only a few minutes. At half past ten she’d be out of here and going on that patrol.

  She walked down the row of cages aware of the eyes that must be on her, the ears listening to her footsteps. At the end of the corridor she put the buckets down, wincing a little at the noise they made.

  The place was not quite as silent as she’d thought at first. There were low mutterings, so soft she could not make out the words. Every now and then a sequence of taps and pings would ring out, to be answered by a slightly different rhythm. Then all would fall into silence again.