What was he talking about? One minute he was telling Berrin he needed to get more sun and the next he was warning him not to get any. Or something like that. Where did he get all this information?
Berrin tried to ignore him while he scanned the bare chamber.
‘… cumulonimbus …’ said Aden.
What? This boy came up with the weirdest words. Berrin couldn’t help but listen again, and realised Aden was on to the clouds and the weather now. It was hard to concentrate with this incessant talk in his ears.
‘… chance of rain today. You can work it out, if you know all the signs …’
Berrin didn’t care if it was going to rain. He simply couldn’t stand it any more. ‘Shut up, will you!’ he shouted. ‘I can’t hear myself think.’
At last, Aden fell silent. Or almost silent. ‘Sorry,’ he said with a helpless look on his face.
Berrin glared at him in case he thought the apology would allow him to start up again. ‘Tell me something useful. What is this place? Gadger Red called it a menagerie.’
‘You met Gadger Red!’ Aden exclaimed.
‘Twice, and I still have both arms and both legs. Now get over it and just tell me what a menagerie is.’
‘A zoo. Malig Tumora keeps all kinds of creatures here. Some are natural, but the rest he created himself.’
‘What does he do with them?’
‘He uses us for spare parts,’ said Aden.
Us! thought Berrin. Of all the things he had heard that day, this frightened him the most. ‘Spare parts. You mean legs and arms and your insides?’
‘No, not like that. At least, not usually. I’ll explain, if you like.’
‘No,’ said Berrin quickly. The explanation would take three days, he was sure of it. Better to make the boy answer simple questions. But before he could ask one, something else arrived in their enclosure.
He heard it first: the high-pitched whine of a tiny motor. Then he saw a small sphere descending over the lip of the wall. About fifty centimetres across, its shiny surface reflected distorted images of the wall and the sand.
Berrin backed away into a corner as it came towards him, finally stopping above his head, just out of reach. ‘What is it?’ he demanded from Aden.
‘An observation ball. Don’t worry, it won’t hurt you.’
‘Glad to hear you’re so sure.’
‘Relax. It’s just going to watch you. It might even talk to you. It talks to me all the time.’
Aden was quickly proved right. ‘Who-are-you? Give-your-name.’
What kind of voice was this? When a person spoke, the words joined up and flowed into one another, smoothing out the sounds. But these words were separate, with a tiny pause between each one, as though they had no connection with one another. Not that it made much difference to Berrin. He had no intention of answering.
‘How-could-you-be-free-on-the-streets? Which-dormer-did-you-escape-from?’ The questions went on. ‘You-were-caught-with-a-weapon. It-came-from-a-robot. How-did-you-come-to-have-it? Are-you-one-of-the-young-humans-who-live-underground?’
Berrin maintained a stony silence throughout. The ball seemed to lose interest, for the questions suddenly ceased. It didn’t go away though, but hovered just over his head, following him as he began to move around the confines of the enclosure.
Berrin saw that words were building up inside poor Aden until his eyes bulged. If he didn’t speak soon, his mouth would probably burst open like a ripe melon. Better think of something to ask him and get some useful answers, Berrin thought. But before he could speak, a terrifying roar rose up close by. It sounded as though two beasts were gnashing and clawing at one another.
‘What’s going on? Aren’t the animals kept in separate cages?’
‘Mostly, yes,’ said Aden, his eyes dulled with fear. ‘But sometimes the guards get bored. If Malig Tumora has no use for an animal any more, they make it fight for its life. They like to watch.’
That sounded familiar to Berrin. ‘The guards are Dfx, aren’t they?’
Aden simply nodded as the terrible battle progressed. The pitiful whimpering of a loser eventually signalled its end. But there was no mercy in this place. The agony of the dying creature tormented the boys’ ears until finally its death brought silence.
‘Do they ever treat humans like that?’
Aden didn’t seem keen to answer, but the urge to talk to his new companion proved too strong. ‘In here, humans are just another kind of animal.’
THE DEADLY BATTLE WAS not long over when the door to the enclosure opened again. The observation ball left Berrin at last and hovered in the doorway. Moments later, three Dfx appeared. Berrin remembered their vacant expressions from his years in the dormitories with all the other children who had been separated from their families at birth. One of the three clutched what looked like a knife.
‘The-dark-haired-one,’ announced the ball.
The Dfx advanced towards Berrin. There was nowhere to hide. No escape. After so many reprieves, this was to be his end. Malig Tumora was going to use him for spare parts.
Aden backed away, out of reach, and watched with apparently little concern. If Berrin hadn’t been so afraid, he might have hated him.
The first Dfx grabbed his wrist, already rubbed raw by the Gadges’ claws. He struggled, but it was no use. These lumbering half-men were too strong for him. One of them gripped him fast around the waist, pinning him to the spot. The other wrenched his arm out and held it tight, leaving his hand exposed. He could see the knife in the third one’s hand. There was other equipment he did not recognise and a plastic bag with a strip across the top to seal up whatever they cut from him.
Spare parts, Berrin thought again. Would they take his entire hand; simply slice it off at the wrist?
‘Hold still,’ the Dfx growled, then the blade moved in, closer and closer.
THREE
Meeting Malig Tumora
BERRIN FOUGHT AGAINST THE Dfx but it did him no good. The one with the knife was angry now. He reached out with his spare hand and grabbed the trembling wrist. Berrin couldn’t see, but the blade was surely moving in.
‘Arh!’ he cried at the first sharp pain.
Then they simply let him go. The Dfx who wielded the knife was wiping the blade onto a tiny rectangle of glass which he slipped into the plastic bag. Berrin dared examine his hand. Except for a tiny cut on his index finger, it was unharmed. Moments later, he was alone again with Aden.
‘You weren’t much help, were you?’ he shouted angrily. ‘You didn’t lift a finger.’
‘Why would I?’ Aden responded, genuinely surprised. ‘I saw the scalpel. I knew they were just after a little blood.’
‘Why my blood? They must have only got a drop or two, anyway.’
For once Aden had information that Berrin actually wanted. He seemed pleased and did his best to explain clearly. ‘Malig Tumora can tell all sorts of things about you from your blood. What you are going to look like when you grow up, what you will be good at, what branch of your species you come from. He can even tell who your brothers and sisters are.’
‘You’re joking. He can tell all that from a few drops of blood!’
‘From the DNA in your blood, actually. There’s DNA in every part of your body. Blood is just the easiest to use.’
Berrin sucked the tip of his bleeding finger. ‘I should be grateful they didn’t take a cup full.’
Aden gave a little laugh. ‘Hey, you know how I said all the animals in this menagerie are for spare parts? That’s what I was really talking about. Malig Tumora uses the DNA from different animals to make his special creatures.’
‘Like the Gadges! Half man and half wolf.’
When Aden nodded, Berrin realised the ominous possibilities. Was Malig Tumora going to use him in his experiments?
THE DAYS PASSED. Berrin counted them with notches he gouged into the wooden post of the lean-to with his thumbnail. It was a way of connecting with the world beyond the high walls, somet
hing that Aden showed no interest in. Now that Berrin had guessed his fate, the terrible noises within the menagerie unsettled him even more.
‘Don’t give in to fear,’ he urged himself. A way to escape might come at any moment and he must be ready. It was the only way he would ever see the others Rats again.
Were they still alive? He pictured them in his mind, Olanda’s grubby face in the light of his helmet lamp, the impish twinkle in Quinn’s eye just before he did something crazy.
At night, a different face visited his dreams — Ferdinand, founder and leader of the Rats and to Berrin, an uncle. This face was ghostly white after so many years living in the storm-water tunnels. Ferdinand’s body was slowly fading away; only his determined spirit kept him alive. Berrin and his friends fought the evil of Malig Tumora to survive, but most of all they fought to free Ferdinand from his prison underground.
So Berrin marked off the days, he watched and he waited.
The boys were fed three times a day by the Dfx who brought their meals on a tray. Aden ate enough for two people. What a guts, thought Berrin, who was happy enough with his own portions. But if Aden always stuffed that much down his throat, why wasn’t he the size of an elephant?
He was still pondering this, when the Dfx made an unscheduled visit. No knife this time, but Berrin didn’t like the look of what they were carrying. One held a bucket that sloshed foamy water onto the sand. Another had cloths and towels. The third took care with a clean shirt and pair of pants. Washing was not popular among the Rats although Berrin did enjoy the feel of clean clothes against his skin. Once he was properly dressed, the observation ball took over.
‘Blindfold-him,’ it instructed the Dfx in its stilted, mechanical voice.
Berrin felt himself guided out of the door and along a series of passages. There didn’t seem to be anyone else around, at least not that he could smell or hear.
The observation ball called a halt. ‘Be-careful-to-follow-the-correct-path. You-know-what-will-happen-if-you-cross-the-line,’ said the robotic voice to the Dfx. Then, ‘The-current-is-switched-off. You-may-proceed.’
The blindfold was removed and Berrin found himself out in the open air. His sense of freedom was short-lived, however. Before him stood an imposing building, like a huge black box. Even the windows were darkened. He counted them: ten floors, with a row of ten windows to each. The building’s name was carved above the entrance: Obsidian. Its starkness made him shudder. This was not a place that human beings entered willingly.
Berrin was given no choice. The doors opened and with the Dfx gripping his arms, Berrin was forced to follow the observation ball as it led the way inside. When the Dfx released him and hurried outside there was no-one to be seen. Hard stone surfaces surrounded him. Everything was clean. The walls shone like glass, reflecting his shadow, and as he walked the echo of his footsteps bounced around his ears, making him feel disorientated.
More doors opened ahead, smaller wooden ones this time, carved with large flowers. The observation ball shepherded him through. When the doors closed behind him, Berrin was alone … or so it seemed.
‘Ah, you have arrived,’ said a voice.
Spinning round, Berrin found a grown-up watching him from a corner of the room. Apart from Ferdinand, this was the only grown-up who had ever spoken to him. The voice was deep and assured, like Ferdinand’s, but this man’s skin was a healthy pinkish brown, not milky white.
For an instant, Berrin wanted to rush to the grown-up’s side, to touch him, to ask him all the questions crowding his mind. Then came a flash of recognition and all such thoughts fled. Yes, he had seen this man before. His picture had hung on the wall of Berrin’s old dormer. The face in the picture was kindly, warm and smiling. In the flesh, the man’s features were sharper, the eyes darting and nervous, the lips unsmiling.
Berrin gasped. He had never imagined this moment would come, but there was no doubt in his mind. He was standing before Malig Tumora.
‘I see you have guessed who I am.’
Like his face, his voice was strangely familiar. Yet Berrin couldn’t possibly have heard it before. Wait, he thought, as he made the connection. ‘That thing has your voice,’ he said aloud, nodding towards the observation ball. The difference was the easy flow of words that only the human tongue could manage.
To Berrin’s surprise, Malig Tumora smiled. ‘I am delighted that you noticed. But it is not actually me speaking through the observation ball. The sphere is the eyes and ears of a rather special machine. Come, I will show you.’
Berrin had hardly expected such a friendly welcome. For weeks, this man had been trying to kill him and the other Rats. He still counted every minute he stayed alive as a bonus.
Malig Tumora was already opening the wooden doors to re-enter the stark foyer beyond. He was not a tall man. Berrin had seen larger grown-ups on his missions to the surface. However, he moved with more confidence and very much faster than other grown-ups. Berrin had to hurry to catch up with him.
They entered a dimly lit corridor lined with windows that opened into much brighter rooms. Grown-ups moved about in the light but paid no attention to the passing figures. After twenty rapid paces, Berrin found himself looking in upon row after row of … well, that was just it. He had no idea what he was looking at. There were panels of blinking lights in a variety of colours, and wires leading everywhere.
‘This is called a computer,’ Malig Tumora announced.
When the boy still looked blank, he went on, ‘Of course, you don’t know what a computer is, do you? It’s a thinking machine, a special kind of robot. But this one doesn’t move around like the scorpion I sent after you. How could it? It takes up three entire floors of this building.’
Berrin barely understood a word of what he was saying.
‘Do you know why it needs to be so big?’ Malig Tumora continued. Before Berrin could think, the man answered himself. ‘Because it is a re-creation of my own brain. It thinks and acts just like me. I have poured everything I am, everything I know, into this machine. All my hopes and dreams, all my ambitions. Is that not so?’ he said, directing his voice to the rows of lights.
‘Yes-I-am-like-you-in-every-way,’ came the reply, but it was the observation ball that spoke, not the machine itself. Now Berrin understood what Malig Tumora had meant when he said the sphere was the computer’s eyes and ears. It was also the machine’s voice.
Malig Tumora beamed with pleasure. ‘This is my greatest creation,’ he said, sweeping his arm grandly towards the computer. ‘And since it is really me in another form, I have even given it my own name.’
Does the machine think it is human? Berrin wondered. He was amazed by what he had seen, but he was not taken in. Were either of these two Malig Tumoras human? The bleak building that housed them seemed empty of any spirit, not even a hint of the liveliness that he had known with his young friends down in the tunnels.
Malig Tumora seemed disappointed by Berrin’s lack of response. ‘But this is not why I had you brought here today. Perhaps it is time to show you the true reason. I have discovered something startling about you. Come.’
They were off again, heading farther along the corridor at a brisk pace, the shiny sphere moving smoothly above Malig Tumora’s head. Berrin hurried to keep up, worried by this last revelation. What had Malig Tumora found out? What could be so startling? Despite his distrust of this man, he was eager to know.
The corridor seemed to be a dead end. But when they reached the shiny end wall, Malig Tumora pushed a button and a set of metal doors glided closed behind them, enclosing them in a tiny room. ‘Take us to the ninth floor,’ he commanded and immediately Berrin felt the floor beneath him rise gently. He gasped. The room seemed to be climbing.
‘You refused to give up your name or where you escaped from,’ Malig Tumora said. ‘But it did you no good, you know. I have my own ways of finding out. In fact, you have provided me with the perfect opportunity to test a nagging theory that worries me.’
When Berrin looked alarmed, he laughed unkindly. ‘Don’t worry. You will not feel any pain.’
But Malig Tumora was wrong about that. Very wrong.
FOUR
A Cruel Experiment
THE DOORS OF THE ODD little chamber opened. Berrin sensed they had risen many floors in the building, but this corridor looked just like those on the ground floor. Glass walls lined both sides.
He could see more grown-ups on the other side of the glass, all of them wearing long white coats over their clothes. Some were writing at desks, others were poking their fingers rather oddly at rows of buttons and staring at small, brightly lit windows in front of them. They were busier than any grown-ups he had ever seen, but they still showed the familiar glaze in their eyes. They were all under the influence of the purple flower.
‘Why doesn’t the smell of that flower affect you and me?’ Berrin asked. ‘You are still human yourself, aren’t you?’
He watched to see how this insult was received. To his surprise, it was the computer that rebuked him. ‘Mind-your-manners,’ the sphere commanded.
Malig Tumora smiled. ‘These corridors have their own air supply so I can check on my laboratories without being affected by the flower gas.’
Laboratories, thought Berrin. Another word he didn’t know. He must mean these brightly lit rooms.
‘It is here that my animals and robots are created,’ Malig Tumora pointed out proudly. ‘Once I worked in the laboratories myself. Now I have teams of clever humans to conduct my experiments.’
‘Only because the flower’s fragrance makes them obey.’
‘Quite correct. But even then, there can be … difficulties. Human feelings are hard to eliminate. We are worried that the gas is not as effective as we need it to be.’
Berrin was stunned to hear Malig Tumora say ‘we’. It was clear that he thought of his thinking machine as an equal, someone who shared in his evil achievements.
‘You are going to help me test how effective it is,’ Malig Tumora continued.
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