“He wants you to eat.”
“I don’t care.”
Dr. Hel’s face fell into a frown. The lines around her mouth were more pronounced than Dinah remembered. With her gloomy expression, she looked like a fish.
“We’ll see about that.”
She turned and left Dinah alone in the room with her stew. The foodstuff was already separating into brown and burnt umber swirls. She put the tray on the floor and pushed it against a wall with her foot.
Through the vent, she heard Dr. Hel’s voice over in Rosalyn’s room.
“Here’s your supper.”
“Thank you,” Rosalyn said.
“Eat it all up.”
“I will.”
Meet Rosalyn, model prisoner.
Dinah went to her door and put her ear to it. Another door closed and footsteps receded. She went back to her cot and stood up on it.
“How long have you been here?” she asked.
“Four weeks or so.”
“I thought you were dead.”
There was no response. As she listened, she heard many of the old sounds coming through the vent and the walls. The soft clicks, the humming, the deep bass noises she could feel in her belly.
Like returning to the womb.
“Are you there?” she asked.
“I’m eating.” Even in the whisper, she heard a hint of a harsh reprimand. This was indeed her Rosalyn.
“The food is probably drugged.”
“I know. I saw the people in the beds in the room with the green light. Figure they want me for something related to that. But I’m hungry.”
“Did they hurt you?”
“I’m fine.”
Dinah reached up to touch the vent. Even on her toes the tips of her fingers were several inches shy of the metal.
“I’m sorry, Rosalyn.”
“So it is your fault.”
Dinah stared up at the dark spaces between the grating. Exhaustion robbed her of her ability to figure out if Rosalyn’s barb was in jest. She could only shake her head before sagging down to the cot.
“It’s not,” she said. She rolled on her side and drew up her knees. “It’s not my fault.”
Part Three: The World Inside
21. Before: Nineveh
When Dinah asked Kelly for his magnetic lockpick, his face broke into a grin worthy of her brother. Once he handed it over, she instantly realized that this was what they were hoping for all along: for her to assume all the risk and undertake this quest to bust the safe open. If this was the price of having friends, she’d do it. All the peril and the brute-force guesswork would be worth it if it meant that she actually got to hang out with someone besides a cranky cat.
That all sounded good in her head, but she was already second-guessing her resolve once she hit the hallways after supper. Dr. Mephisto would typically be out of his office and making his rounds, visiting students and evaluating their mental health. This was when he often checked in on her. So she would have to come up with an excuse for not being in her usual places, either the library or her room.
Duplicating Kelly’s trick with the magnet proved easy enough. The lock opened with the first swipe and she was inside. After closing the door, she took a moment to catch her breath. Was she hyperventilating? She wasn’t sure if this was from excitement or nerves. The thought of disappointing Kelly or Addis filled her with anxiety, even though in the back of her mind she understood that she might be being played. It would be an epic gag if Mephisto got tipped off about a break-in at his office right about now. But Kelly had trusted her with the magnet. Losing that wouldn’t be worth it for a laugh.
The hallway outside was quiet. She could hear someone talking, their voice echoing through the ventilation duct, but this could be coming from any of the neighboring offices, left or right, above or below.
“Okay, let’s open sez me.”
She uncovered the safe door and started her guesswork with the assumption that every number could be off by two. She worked quickly. Turn, turn, turn, turn, click, over and over. The numbers tracked in her head. She started from three as the first and second combination candidates, with fourteen as the third, and worked her way up. After thirty minutes, her fingers trembled and her neck and back ached, and the safe had given no indication that any of her entries were correct. She pushed on.
From the hall, footsteps approached. Someone stopped in front of the door. Plastic card keys clicked. She covered the safe and saw that she had three options, one of which included kneeling there like an idiot and getting caught. She could hide behind the door as it opened, which would work when Doctor Mephisto entered, but once he was inside the room and had closed the door he would see her. Or she could crawl underneath the desk.
She tucked her legs in just as the door opened.
“Talk to the dietitian,” Dr. Mephisto was saying. “Add more salt or more sugar. I don’t care. They won’t notice an adjustment to the meds if they can’t taste it.”
“The more sensitive palates will notice,” Dr. Hel said. “The kids already gripe about the flavor. We can only doctor things up so much before the food becomes inedible. Add the hormones to their medication regimens.”
The lights came on.
“No, we try the food first. Give them a ration of the desiccated fruit punch if you have to. If their bodies don’t absorb it properly, then the hormones would have to be administered intravenously. Shots would be burdensome, but that’s what it will come down to if their blood tests don’t register heightened levels by next week.”
They both stood in the doorway in silence. Dinah heard neither of them move. Then the door shut, and she heard a shuffle and the sounds of heavy breathing. It was as if they were both quietly trying to inhale through congested noses. They moved across the room as one, and she heard clothing rustle. The desk was jarred and Dr. Hel gasped. Dinah squeezed up into a tighter ball. Now it was Dr. Mephisto’s turn to start panting. Dinah heard some wet sounds, followed by indistinct words of encouragement.
Were Dr. Mephisto and Dr. Hel hooking up? Dinah had a pretty good idea about what sex was, but now she had a front row seat. Her mouth twisted with mild disgust.
Before a minute had passed, Dr. Hel said, “I can’t right now. I have to get back to the lab.”
“When, then?”
“Tonight.” With that, she left the office.
Dinah heard Dr. Mephisto sigh and swear under his breath. He walked away from the desk. She heard books being moved, and then he took a loud swallow of something. He continued to exhale loudly as if he had just run up all the stairs to the surface and back down in one go. Another swig, and he put the container down and moved the books again. Then he opened the door and turned off the lights as he exited.
She almost fell out from under the desk. The safe was forgotten in her excitement.
Wait till I tell everyone about Dr. Mephisto and Dr. Hel!
22. Workspaces
Karl had spoken of reunions being the greatest joy a heart could know, when a beloved one leaves and comes back. He’d said that this joy would find its ultimate expression when those lost in death are seen again in the Kingdom during the triumphant reuniting of all of God’s lost children.
But Dr. M wasn’t a loved one. When he entered Dinah’s cell, she felt nothing but a disappointed murmur in some corner of her mind. Of course he had survived, but now that she a close look at him, he appeared more cadaver than living human. His skin hung from his narrow face. Both eyes looked red, as if several blood vessels had burst at the same time. He smiled, revealing missing teeth. He had an odd energy about him and seemed to be suppressing a nervous twitch. His breathing came in short irregular pants, as if he had exhausted himself walking to her cell.
“Ah, Dinah, at last. There we are.”
“Hi Doc, you’re still alive. I’m surprised.”
“Yes, quite so. As are you. A bit lean, to be sure, and with a mild sunburn but otherwise unharmed.”
He lea
ned in close without touching and gave an exaggerated nod.
“If you needed help with a math problem, you could have just asked,” she said.
He looked at her as if not completely registering what she had said. Then he waved a hand dismissively. “It’s time to prepare you for what comes next. It’s important. Please try to take this seriously.”
“I saw what you did to Addis and the others. I know it’s serious. Have our entire lives been nothing but part of some grand experiment?”
He sighed. “What we’re doing here is necessary. Didn’t your brother explain it to you? He should have explained it.”
“Only half-truths come from my brother.”
“He’s busy. Distracted.”
“He’s crazy.” She began to walk past him toward the door. He beat her there and closed it. She flashed him her best innocent smile, the one that had often worked with him and had never worked with Uma, not that she ever gave up trying.
“Sit,” he said.
She sat. He produced an instrument with a long spike similar to but larger than the ones on the sensors she had used.
“If you’d please pull the hair away from the back of your neck. This won’t hurt.”
She did as he asked, if for no other reason than to get him to explain what was going on.
He touched the needle end to the base of her skull. Suddenly a shock exploded through her head, forcing her jaw to clench and her eyes to shut. She jerked forward and would have fallen off the cot, but Dr. M caught her and laid her down. The sensation passed quickly, but her body stayed twisted up as she caught her breath.
“Just breathe normally. Good, good. You’re a brave girl, Dinah.”
She didn’t answer. She fought to regain control of her muscles.
He kept talking. Something about an old tracking chip and how it might interfere with her work and that he had just neutralized it. Her brother had one, too. Wasn’t that interesting? But Ruben had undergone the same procedure just that day. It’s not like they would lose either of them inside Nineveh…
She noticed the scratches on one side of Dr. M’s face near his ear. They weren’t deep, but they were recent, three angry pink marks that were just in the process of healing.
A smile crossed her face. “Did Rosalyn get you?”
He put a finger to the scratches. “She’s been difficult. She probably shouldn’t be here.”
“So why did you bring her?”
“Your brother wanted her,” he said in a quiet voice, as if he were afraid to be overheard.
“And he’s in charge now.” It wasn’t a question, but Dr. M nodded anyway. “So how does she fit in with this program?”
He looked genuinely surprised. “I thought you knew. Like you, she was born here.”
***
Dinah swam alone in a sea of numbers. The information that she received on an everyday basis—sensory input, conversations with others, her own thoughts—was a trickle compared to this torrent. As she tried to get her bearings, she realized it was more than one number stream. The rivers of information came from all sides and from above and below. She was the central intersection to which it all flowed. The values around her all had their place; it was up to her to find it.
“It’s too much,” she said.
“Try to relax,” Dr. M.
Ruben shushed him. “Let her figure it out.”
She did try to relax, but that made it all worse. She was caught in a multitude of undertows that tore at her and threatened to tear her limbs from their sockets. She could see nothing. A churning roar filled her ears. She wanted to scream, but the pressure of the swirling chaos already pressed at her lips, and she was afraid it would suffocate her. She spun. She toppled. There was no longer an up or down. The contents of her stomach were about to leave her.
“Make it stop.”
A clammy hand took hers. She managed to open her eyes and saw her brother looking down at her, his face haloed by a bright white light above him that burned too hot. She squeezed her eyes shut. Her skin suddenly itched, then burned. The pain radiated into her bones and through her teeth. Her breathing came hard and her throat felt tight. Still more numbers raced toward her, a blitz rushing into her mind, as if she were a beachhead filling with an endless flow of oncoming invaders.
Ruben sighed. He sounded disappointed. “Give it all somewhere to go.”
“There’s nowhere to send it. It’s too much, from every direction, I can’t…”
She heard a drumming sound. Ruben had pulled his hand from hers and was now tapping his fingers impatiently on the rolling tray stand they had placed near the bed she lay on. She pawed weakly at one of the wires attached to her head. Instant regret. Pain shot through her brain.
She heard Dr. M step closer.
“Doc, if you touch her, I will have you thrown down an elevator shaft.”
Dr. M sucked in air through his teeth and moved back.
Her numbers continued their forward momentum. She tried to look at the entirety of the wall of data pushing at her every side. They hemmed her in. Soon they would crush her and her bones to powder.
She had to surrender the notion that she could instantly know what to do. Perhaps her gift had made her lazy.
Start simple.
What had Dr. Hel taught the other children in their earliest math classes? Those times in the classroom had been a nuisance, sitting with kids who struggled with what should have come automatically.
Dr. Hel had started with addition. Pictures of pigs.
Two pigs plus two pigs equals how many pigs?
The torrent of thoughts wasn’t waiting for her to quantify its parts as units of pigs. It continued to flow. Soon she would burst at the seams.
She tried to grab at parts of it, to mush them together into a larger sum, to make a new whole from the fabric of thoughts. She failed.
“Too many pigs,” she whispered.
“What?” Dr. M asked.
“Shh,” Ruben hissed.
Dinah ran through mental images of other animals to replace the pigs. She tried fish, cows, cats, and dogs, but none of them worked to change the overflow of information into something approachable. She even tried inanimate objects: cups, stars, balloons, and antique phones with circles of the numbers zero through nine on their faces.
“Please make it stop.”
No succor came her way, no relief. She fought to relax her breathing. The mental image of the old telephone lingered. The zero had the word “Operator” printed below it in tiny type. She had been interpreting the flow of data as one through ten. How else could she process signals from each component brain attached to the network? Yet only a small percentage of the billions of neurons were firing. And she didn’t believe neurons used numbers. That happened in other parts of the brain. Like a machine, neurons either provided a value by firing or they didn’t.
Ones and zeroes.
Would that reduce the onslaught into something more manageable?
Each active neuron from one of the human nodes could fire a thousand times per second. She couldn’t collect it all. She had to process it by sifting it, converting it, letting it go. If she didn’t, she would die.
“Ones and zeroes,” she whispered. It was possible. She repeated herself. “Ones and zeroes. Ones and zeroes.” It became a mantra, a prayer for salvation.
Somehow, she knew her brother was now smiling.
***
Dinah wasn’t sure when she got unplugged. Perhaps she had passed out or fallen asleep. Her memory of the past hours, or maybe days, was a smear through her brain, as if a garden hoe had been dragged through the gray matter, turning over topsoil and mulch along with any sense of time and her connection with reality.
All these numbers.
Yet they hadn’t lined up. It felt like an unfinished math puzzle Dr. Hel would drop into one of her homework assignments for extra credit. Those had always been easy and quickly solved, yet now she had a galaxy of unprocessed numbers dangling in the
recessed nooks of her head, an itch she couldn’t scratch, a failing mark that would go on her permanent record unless she could go back to finish it. Suddenly she was Stevie, sitting like a stump in front of an indecipherable sheet of calculations.
“You should eat.”
Dr. M placed a bowl of stew on the table next to her cot. It looked hot but smelled like cooked hay.
“If I eat some of it, will you leave?”
“Tell me how you’re feeling.”
She tried to get up too quickly and got dizzy. She sat and gripped the cot’s side to keep herself stabilized. She didn’t want to lie back down again.
“Are you in pain?” He sat down on a stool and crossed his legs as if they were about to begin a session. “Did you make progress? Achieve control of any of the other nodes?”
“The other nodes are people.”
“Hmm, yes, we’ve established that. But we all must play our part. Do not squander the sacrifice the others have made to indulge your own sense of moral outrage.”
“Get away from me.”
As he rose from the stool, she picked up the bowl of stew and threw it. Her aim was terrible. The bowl clattered against the opposite wall, its contents rolling down to the floor like a wad of spit.
Dr. M left without a word, shaking his head as if her petulance was just one more thing he would be forced to put up with.
“Did you hear that?” she asked aloud, but Rosalyn didn’t answer.
Her muscles ached, and she had crusties in her eyes. She felt so tired, as if she had been doing chores or hiking the hills. She wondered about where Redmon was and even worried about Karl.
Was coming back a mistake?
She had accomplished nothing, and she worried that her brother’s mad experiment would only drive her mad. And the murders in the valley would continue.
It struck her even deeper to know that not only was he willing to kill innocent strangers, he was causing his own sister to suffer. Perhaps she would die with her head in the machine. She was but a piece on his game board, and not having her there triggered a tantrum. She felt numb and sick. Nineveh’s new master was no different than the ones before. She no longer had a world here to return to, and the one above had burned.
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