I bolted, diving through the stairwell door behind which Jane hid as she held it open for me. I snatched the card from her and raced across the stairwell as she shoved the door closed. As soon as Jane was through, I shut the next one and raced after her across the gym. Slamming the gym door as well, I put my head down and sprinted as I never had before.
Jane had a few stride’s head start and I couldn’t catch her. Sand flew under my feet and my leg muscles bunched, driving me forwards with every scrap of power terror and adrenalin could draw from me. The gate… reach the gate. Through the gate and there’d be covering fire. I just had to reach the gate…
It floated towards me in peculiar slow motion, considering I was running faster than I’d ever run in my life. Almost there, almost…
The gym doors banging and a harsh oath barely penetrated my mind. Almost there…
Something about the size of a coin slapped the center of my back and a black tunnel dropped over me. I saw Jane race through the gate and away, then the sand hit my cheek and my silent scream was swallowed by blackness.
***+***
27
I AM MARGARET
A harsh voice was speaking.
“And have you regained control of your entire domain?”
A familiar voice I couldn’t place drawled, “All is as secure as it can be in the circumstances, sir. Once my full complement of guards is available to me again, clearing those yobs out of the towers will be short work. Though I doubt it will be necessary. They’ll get bored and leave soon enough.”
There was something around my wrists and ankles and I seemed to be lying flat on my back on a very hard surface. My head ached.
“Why don’t you blow them to h… pieces?” demanded another voice.
“Blow up my own towers?” exclaimed Major Everington. That’s who was speaking. “Whatever for!”
“To kill those scum who blew up our helicopter and…”
“Calm down,” said the first voice, the harsh and haughty one. “We will get ourselves a new helicopter and the, er, scum, will certainly pay. You—dismantler—how much longer do we have to wait?”
Doctor Richard’s voice... everything came rushing into my mind. For a moment terror almost whited out all thought.
“I was just waiting for an opportunity to inform you, sir, that the subject is awake. Though pretending otherwise.”
Oh, Lord! Needing a few archangels to assist my puny self about now…
I opened my eyes.
On my right waited Doctor Richard and Sidney and their three minions, all hunching subserviently. One look to my left showed why. There stood the Minister for the British Department, the Head of the EuroGov Genetics Department and, gulp, Reginald Hill, the Minister for Internal Affairs, as they termed it. Major Everington stood at the foot of the gurney, between the two groups, looking as unruffled as ever.
“Ah, you’re awake, you bitch,” snapped Mr. British Department. He was the angry voice.
I couldn’t even remember his name. My mouth was so dry my tongue tried to stick to its roof. I licked my lips and stared up at him, struggling to think through the terror.
“What did I do to you?” I came up with at last.
“You wrecked my big speech,” he hissed, leaning over me to put his face close to mine. “Wrecked it, you and that Resistance boy of yours.”
“Your speech?” I echoed, startled out of some of my terror. “What speech? You were only introducing the Chairman and you’d finished that by the time… um…” I trailed off—better not incriminate myself. Mr. British Department turned purple and the Major gave a tiny smile.
“It’s a bit late for that, my dear,” said Reginald Hill, speaking for the first time. His face was hard and lined, but his voice was deceptively soft and gentle. “Unless, of course, you deny writing this book?”
He turned to the tall, medical-looking man, the head of the EGD—the haughty one?—who opened his briefcase, took out a hardback book and displayed it to me. I stared at the utterly incriminating object with a mixture of fascination and fear. The cover showed a stylized Facility in black and red, with a pair of eyes staring from an upper window. I AM MARGARET it said across the top, and at the bottom SUSAN CROFTON. It was a good cover.
“Do you deny writing this book?” inquired Reginald Hill, his voice so very, very soft.
I bludgeoned my brain, trying to stir it to action. No doubt they’d be delighted if I denied writing the book. They’d trot me out to repeat it to the press and suddenly no one would take I AM MARGARET seriously any more. And they’d never let me get away with it without making the Divine denial. And then they’d dismantle me in a year and a half anyway.
“It doesn’t seem to be my name on the front,” I said.
Reginald Hill leaned over me. “Did you write this book?” he demanded, his voice suddenly hard as iron.
I stared around as I tried to gather my thoughts—and my courage. Doctor Richard and his group studied me avariciously, their eyes taking a silent inventory of my parts and their likely condition. The three government heads stared through me as though I were something in their way that needed removing, clearing up, dealing with. The Major stared down at me impassively, and I had the strangest feeling he was the only one in the room who was really seeing me at all. Margaret, a person.
“Did you write this book?” demanded Reginald Hill. “I suggest you think very carefully about your answer. Dismantler, show her some of the tools of your trade.”
Doctor Richard and his team helpfully displayed a grisly procession of scalpels, razor-sharp saws, drills, pliers, clamps and a horrible spoon-headed contraption that made my eyelids flinch shut.
“Now, we are being very patient with you,” unusually so, his tone implied, “but we must have your answer. Did you write this book?”
I stared up at the ceiling, avoiding their eyes. Lord, Uncle Peter always said you’d never let any of us face a trial beyond our strength. So I must be able to do this. But it’s so hard. So hard.
A hand gripped my hair; yanked my head around so I looked into Reginald Hill’s lined face.
“Did. You. Write. This. Book?”
The Major still stared. His steady gaze almost seemed to whisper, ‘Just say no.’
“Yes,” I said. “I wrote that book.”
“You are aware precisely what you are confessing? This book convicts you of membership in the Underground, to say nothing of disrupting a certain speech and the minor matter of a million eurons worth of fireworks.”
“I don’t admit to disrupting his speech,” I retorted. “He wasn’t speaking at the time and it wasn’t a speech, it was a lousy introduction. Yes to the rest.”
The Major looked like he was trying not to smile again. Mr. British Department stepped forward and struck me across the face, snapping my head back against the gurney. The fading ache returned with renewed intensity. Doctor Richard made a slight sound of pain.
“Whatever is the matter with you, dismantler?” demanded Mr. EGD, disdainfully.
“Forgive me, it is merely my zeal for my work, sir. Her cheeks, see what fine cheeks they are, someone will be very glad of them, but they cannot be transplanted, you see, if they are bruised… forgive me, I should not have…”
“No, you shouldn’t. Keep your mouth shut in future.” He turned to Mr. British Department. “Do calm down. It wasn’t a speech, it wasn’t interrupted and it is not the issue here.”
Mr. British Department glared at him, but stepped back from the gurney. Reginald Hill stepped forward, his voice gone soft soft again.
“Let me make things very clear to you. You have just confessed to Personal Practice of Superstition, furthermore, you have just confessed to Inciting and Promoting Superstition in the General Population through the publication of this seditious book. I, Reginald Hill, Minister for Internal Affairs, hereby sentence you to the full penalty of the law. You are to undergo here, at this time, Full Conscious Dismantlement. Do you understand what that means,
girl?”
Oh yes, said the sick cold fluttering of my belly, I know exactly what that means, the Captain has seen to that. I could not speak.
“Do you understand?”
“Yes,” I whispered.
“Due to the nature of your crime, the law stipulates a full pardon to be given in the event that you choose to categorically deny the existence of any so-called Deity. So I suggest you do so now. Because as you are probably aware, it will not be possible for you to save yourself once the execution is in progress.”
That fact was supposed to be the ultimate threat, the ultimate terror. Save yourself now or when you want to, you won’t be able. Father Mark called it a blessing, though. ‘You see, it means all you have to do is hold out just long enough,’ he’d told me. ‘And then you can’t give in. You literally can’t.’
Suddenly I really understood what he meant. I just had to hold firm long enough.
“All you have to say,” Reginald Hill was whispering in my ear, “is ‘there is no God’. And you don’t die today.”
No, I’d be trotted out in front of the media to make the denial over and over again. See how little these superstitious idiots actually believe… It would be worse than if I’d never written the book at all.
“It’s just four words. What do four little words matter, against your life?”
“Vade post me, Satana,” I whispered. Uncle Peter, pray for me now…
“Perhaps I should describe the process to you. They start with the skin. All the biggest sheets of it. In fact, with someone of your age—the dismantler’s right: you have very fine skin—” he caressed my unbruised cheek with one forefinger, “they’ll take pretty much all of it off. It’s the eyes next, I imagine that’s particularly horrible, and then you’re blind for all the rest, though that won’t be your chief concern by that point…”
Cold sweat was trickling down my brow and my stomach churned as though filled with crushed ice. I was shaking and couldn’t stop. Reginald Hill went on and on and Uncle Peter’s execution played in my mind, I couldn’t blot it out. He only shut up when I finally lunged up against the restraints and was violently sick down his trousers and all over his ten thousand euron shoes.
“I believe,” said the Major blandly, as Reginald Hill swore vilely and did a wild trouser-shaking dance, “that the accused has already witnessed an execution and knows the process… a little too well, shall we say?”
“Vile bitch,” snapped Reginald Hill, suddenly sounding rather like Donald. “How dare you!”
“What the hell do you mean, how dare I?” I yelled, losing it entirely. “I didn’t ask you to make me sick, you swine! Why don’t you just shut up and go away?”
His hand clenched and for a moment I thought he was going to inflict more damage on my fine cheeks. But iron control re-established itself: his hand relaxed again, and his face assumed its previous emotionless lines. He stepped back to accept the ministrations of a minion with a handful of paper tissues and Mr. EGD stepped forward, grabbed me by the collar and smacked my head back into the gurney. So much for subtler means of persuasion.
“Make the Divine Denial,” he said, still sounding arrogant as anything.
“No!”
He smacked me into the gurney again, making my ears ring.
“Make it.”
“NO.”
Smack.
“Make it.”
“Leave me alone!”
My heart was drumming, and panic coursed through me. I wanted to do as he said, I wanted it almost more than I’d ever wanted anything. No. I will not.
“Make it!”
“No!” I screamed, “get this into your thick heads, I am not making the Divine denial—there is absolutely nothing you can do that’s worse than what you’re going to do anyway, so how the hell do you think you’re going to change my mind? How, moron?” I spat in his face. Okay, so it wasn’t a very nice thing to do, but I was absolutely desperate to get rid of them before my nerve broke. I was too close, far, far too close…
He smacked me into the gurney once more for good measure, then wiped his face on his sleeve.
“Let’s leave the little bitch to stew in her own blood.”
“Chairman said break her,” said Reginald Hill half-heartedly.
“If we could, Reg,” pointed out Mr. British Department with a nasty smile. “We’ve tried, haven’t we?”
Go away just go away please and let them get on with it ‘cause I don’t think I can hold out much longer…
“Last chance, bitch,” said Mr. EGD. “Then it’s over to the dismantler and his eye scoops.”
That broke something inside me and I hurled myself from side to side against the straps, to no avail. All that happened was I threw up on him, too. There wasn’t much left in my stomach and he managed to miss most of it by jumping backwards.
“Sod off,” I panted, when I’d stopped heaving and sunk back, wrists and throat burning. That wasn’t very nice either, but what I really wanted to say was, ‘yes, yes, of course I’ll say it, just keep Doctor Richard away from me, at least until I’m safely unconscious in a year or so’s time…’
“Fine,” snapped Mr. EGD, looking at Reginald Hill. “Sign that thing and let’s clear off.”
“A pleasure.” Reginald Hill looked straight at me as he did so, the cold smile on his lined face not quite hiding his frustration. He handed the form to Doctor Richard and before I’d quite taken it in, all three had swept from the Lab.
Which just left the Major and the dismantling team. The Major said something I couldn’t catch to the doctor while the minions moved in and began to remove my—that is, the Menace’s—clothes. I began to shake in long, convulsive shudders, twisting wildly against the straps. Hopeless. I was utterly helpless.
Doctor Richard laid two syringes down on a little table beside the gurney. I recognized one, the amber liquid they’d given Uncle Peter. The clear one was surely the anesthetic used in normal executions and dismantlements. Huh?
The Major went around to the clean side of the gurney and perched on the edge, staring down his long nose at me.
“Well, girl, you beat them, didn’t you?” he said coolly. “Now, I have my own offer. I don’t care what you have to say about your Divinity. But if you tell me what I want to know, I will give you this clear injection with my own hands.”
He picked up the syringe and twiddled it in his fingers, watching me watching it. “Yes, you know what this is, don’t you? This is the standard anesthetic. Once you’ve got this in you, you’ll never feel a thing. You’ll just fall straight asleep and it will all be over.”
“But what do you want?” I asked suspiciously. My throat was hoarse but I could hardly take my eyes off that clear fluid.
He leaned closer, his eyes passing up over my bra to meet mine without pausing.
“Where are the others?”
I looked away, squeezing my eyes shut. Bane’s voice drummed through my head, ‘We’re going first to the glade in the Fellest below Rayle’s Pass—you remember those caves there.’ The glade below Rayle’s Pass. The glade below Rayle’s Pass. Oh no.
“So, you do know where they’re going. Just tell me and the anesthetic’s yours. What the bigwigs don’t know won’t hurt them.”
Doctor Richard eyed the Major rather nervously at that.
“Come, tell me,” said the Major coaxingly.
“No,” I whispered.
“Come, come, you must know their chances of getting away permanently are next to nothing? Seventy reAssignees? You must know it’s hopeless.”
“If it’s so hopeless, why are you so desperate for me to tell you where they are?”
His lip twitched slightly.
“Ah yes, you ran rings around their Lordships, so now you will do the same with me. But this is a good offer and it’s the last one you’re likely to get.”
“I don’t expect you’ve read my book?” My voice only trembled a little.
“Yes, actually. Enjoyed it. Opened
it when it arrived just to read the first page, you know—but for some strange reason I couldn’t stop reading—not until I had to take a rather important phone call. Way to piss off a lot of people, young lady. Why do you ask?”
“My fiancé’s with the others. So I think you need to reconsider whether I’m likely to tell you where they are, don’t you?”
“Well, as you say, young lady, I read the book. I reckon your fiancé would be quite happy to be shot or dismantled in the normal way if it saved you from what you face. Do you disagree?” I looked away again. “So why don’t you tell me?”
“Because I would not be quite happy! And though I’m the one in here for poor math I seem to be able to count better than you. Or do you value your own life to the tune of seventy to one?”
He leaned closer. He smelt of flowers and soil but also sweat. Nice to know we had made him run around a bit today. His eyes were like reflections of my own in the lights and they stared bleakly into mine.
“But we are not talking about lives, Margaret, are we? We are talking about deaths. Seventy painless deaths against the one which awaits you? That doesn’t seem such a bad trade.”
“I am not giving you Bane,” I snapped. “Or the others! So go away and leave me alone, you evil bastard.”
“Ah, you’re trying to make me angry. Well, it worked on them, didn’t it? Though I doubt you’d have got through the skin of the charming Mr. Reginald Hill with mere words. A convenient attack of bodily frailty, that. But you know what I think? I think they were too quick to leave. I think if they’d pushed just a little further, they’d have had you. Still, their loss is my gain. So why don’t you tell me where the others are?”
“How did you pass your Sorting when you’re clearly deaf as a post?” But I quaked inside. Because he was right. I’d wound the others up and they’d all lost their tempers, and somewhat in the nick of time. The Major wasn’t showing any sign of losing his.
I Am Margaret Page 29