Paradigm

by Helen Stringer

  “Damn straight. Too many rules, too many secrets.”

  “Like the Sams?”

  “Can you believe they did that? Chopping kids’ brains up! Man, you have to have a serious God complex to think you’re helping mankind with that shit.”

  “Do you know why they do it?”

  “Don’t know, don’t care. Okay, this is our tunnel. You’ll have to crawl, it’s kinda low.”

  There was a rough opening in the wall of the utility tunnel where the concrete had been chipped away, leaving a black hole that snaked through the ground. Sam followed Rob in, but the going was much slower now and the air heavy and stale. He tried not to think about where they were or worry about cave-ins or the fact that he was having difficulty breathing.

  “How much further?” he asked.

  “Nearly there.”

  They crawled on for what seemed like hours before a dim grey light began to dilute the inky blackness. Sam breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of the distant exit, and was thankful when they finally clambered out and into a small basement room. Rob disguised the hole with a few old crates and led the way up a narrow staircase and out into the city.

  Sam had grown up on stories of San Francisco. His own memories were dim and mainly focused around the house, but his parents had talked of the city itself. They had only known it long after the earthquake had ravaged it, but they said its beauty still shone through. They had used that word a lot—it was always a “shining” place, glimmering at the entrance of the great bay. The result was that in Sam’s imagination it had become an almost mythical city, redolent of safety, perfection and the best of civilization.

  Nothing could live up to that.

  The real San Francisco turned out to be a warren of narrow streets bounded by crumbling tenements and littered with the detritus of decades. It wasn’t shining, it was dirty, cold, foggy, and grey. Sam shivered, pushed his hands deep into his pockets and cursed the theft of the car for the thousandth time.

  “This way,” said Rob, nodding down the street.

  “That’s okay,” said Sam, managing a smile. “I’ll be fine. I just want to get some miles between myself and the city. Thanks for all your help.”

  “Don’t be crazy. You look pretty ill and the nights are freezing ‘round here. You can head out in the morning.”

  Sam hesitated. Every instinct told him to get as far away as he could, but he had to admit that it was really cold, and it wasn’t even dark yet.

  Life without a car sucked.

  “You’re probably right,” he said.

  Rob grinned and headed off down the rapidly darkening street. Sam loped after him, his mind still full of Bethany and the grim life she had ahead of her. He knew there were no guarantees that things would be any better if she left, but he couldn’t help feeling that he’d let her down.

  “Hey, Rob?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What’s a theta?”

  “You don’t know?”

  “Would I be asking if I knew?”

  Rob glanced at him sharply, then smiled.

  “I guess not. Thetas are the ones that didn’t quite…take.”

  “Take?”

  “Yeah. See, the brains at HIR reckoned they were too busy or too important or too something to be bothered with having kids, so around the time of the first collapse they started cloning themselves.”

  “Cloning?”

  “Yeah, they’d been doing it with animals for years. The big agri-businesses made millions out of the genetically identical cows and pigs HIR created, so why not give it a go with people?”

  “Perfect people.”

  “Yeah, well, I wouldn’t go that far, but the brains certainly think their DNA’s a lot better than anyone else’s.”

  “So I assume there was a problem.”

  “Of course. I mean, usually it goes great, but sometimes the results are just a tad defective. The ones with physical problems they destroy, but the ones with mild mental issues are more useful.”

  “And those are the thetas.”

  “Yeah. Okay, we’re here.”

  He stopped in front of a tumbledown Victorian house that had probably been quite elegant at one time, but now only seemed to be kept upright by the dirt, grime and creepers that clung to its walls. Cardboard and rags were fastened over all the ground floor windows and the door hung loose on a single hinge.

  Rob bounded up a series of boxes that took the place of the long-vanished steps.

  “It ain’t much, but it’s home. C’mon in.”

  Sam followed him inside and found himself in a long hall, with impressively banistered stairs on one side and two large rooms on the other.

  “Come on back to the kitchen,” said Rob. “I’ll introduce you.”

  The kitchen was large and warm, with a blazing fire in the small fireplace and chairs and cushions scattered about. Most were occupied by people of varying ages. A few were old, but the majority seemed to be around Sam’s age.

  “Hey, everyone,” said Rob brightly. “This is Sam. He’s going to crash here for the night. Sam, this is Gil, Mary, Trey, Pat, Cath, Lisa, Dave, and Phil. There are a few others, but they’re out on missions at the moment.”

  There were mumbled greetings on both sides as the denizens of the house took the measure of the newcomer. Sam stood in the doorway, unsure of what to do.

  “Come on in!” said the one called Gil, standing and ushering Sam over to a chair. “It’s a bit crowded, but it’s warm. D’you want some tea?”

  “Uh…yeah…thanks.”

  Sam felt half there—the buzzing had started in his head the moment they’d emerged onto the street and he was having trouble concentrating.

  “Are you okay?” asked Rob, examining his face closely.

  “I have a headache. I’ll be fine.”

  Gil handed him a mug of something hot and brown. For a moment Sam hesitated. The last time he’d accepted a drink from someone, he’d ended up in a white room being threatened with DIY brain surgery.

  “I know what you mean,” said one of the girls. “It’s pretty vile stuff, but it’s better than the water.”

  Sam smiled and took a sip. The girl was right—it tasted nasty, but it was warm and wet and for the moment that was enough.

  He sat back in the chair and let the warmth of the room and the drink wash over him. For the first time in what seemed like forever, he felt relatively safe.

  “Anything new on campus?” asked Gil.

  “Don’t know,” said Rob, helping himself to some tea. “Only went into the clinic, gave Bethy her stuff and brought this guy out.”

  “How is she?” asked one of the girls.

  “The same.”

  “Man,” said one of the guys. “If she was my sister I sure as hell wouldn’t leave her there.”

  “Sister?” said Sam, sitting up. “She’s your sister?”

  “Yeah,” said Rob. “Well, kinda. Cloned from the same material.”

  Sam stared at him in disbelief.

  “But…you know what they’ve been grooming her for, right?”

  “Yeah. She’s lucky.”

  “Lucky?”

  “Well, she’s pretty. It’s better than just being some drudge all your life.”

  “And you would know that…how?” Sam could feel the anger rising inside him.

  “Look, Sam, you’re new to San Francisco, you don’t know what HIR is like. They’ve been running things their way for over a hundred years. We’re here to try do something about it. But we can’t just do what we want.”

  “That’s right,” said one of the older men, nodding sagely. “Sacrifices have to be made. Rob can’t have some kid trailing around after him. And a theta at that.”

  “Then you’re no better than them, with their ‘sacrifices for the greater good,’” said Sam. “It’s all the same. Just rationalizing.”

  “Is it rationalizing if it’s the truth?” asked Gil.

  Sam looked from one to the other. These we
re strangers, not friends. He knew nothing about them. He needed to think.

  “Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to… I think I’ve been cooped up too long. I need some air.”

  He stood up and stalked out of the room and out onto the front porch. It was nearly dark now and the ruined city had vanished into the encroaching night. It was as if the crumbling Victorian was the only house left in the world. He sat down and watched the last glimmer of daylight vanish.

  “Are you okay?” It was one of the girls.

  “I’m…yes. Sure.”

  The girl sat next to him and smiled sympathetically. She was fair and kind of pretty, if a little worn around the edges.

  “I’m Mary,” she said. “It’s hard sometimes…listening to them. It makes me wonder…you know, if anything happened to me. If a raid went wrong or something. Would they just leave me behind, too?”

  “Probably,” said Sam.

  “Yeah.” She sighed and they sat in silence for a while.

  “Um…What raids?”

  “The ones on the offices. The smaller ones, you know. The main campus is too well guarded.”

  “What are you looking for?”

  “Proof.”

  “Proof of what?”

  “Rob says that Mutha is sentient. That Hermes Industries isn’t controlling it at all. You were in the main campus, what do you think?”

  Sam stared at her, but resisted the temptation to tell her all about it. He didn’t know these people or what they were really about, so he just shrugged.

  “I don’t know. I was sick most of the time. I only went to the upper floors once.”

  “And what did you see?”

  Sam and Mary turned around. Rob was leaning against the door frame, his arms folded and his face serious.

  “What d’you mean?” said Sam, hoping he looked suitably confused.

  “Were there any muthascreens?”

  “No, I guess not.”

  “And what do you deduce from that?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Oh, come on, Sam,” said Rob, crouching next to him. “They wanted to turn you into one of those vegetables they keep hidden away. Don’t tell me you didn’t draw a few conclusions.”

  Sam looked at him, then nodded.

  “Mutha isn’t there. They don’t use it. Or, if they do, they’re limiting it to particular locations.”

  “They don’t use it at all,” said Rob. “I grew up there. The only information available was in old books and magazines. There wasn’t even any TV.”

  “But why?” said Sam. “What’s the point? They invented the thing.”

  “And they rake in tons of cash for it every second of every minute of every day. Everybody thinks Hermes Industries and Mutha are the same thing. That without HI, what little comfort and communication we have left would be gone forever.”

  “Maybe it would,” said Sam. “And maybe that wouldn’t be a bad thing.”

  “It wouldn’t. Because Mutha doesn’t need HI. It doesn’t need anyone.”

  “You see,” said Mary enthusiastically. “We’re going to find the evidence and tell the world. Bring down Hermes Industries!”

  Sam looked from one to the other. Their faces were bright with the eagerness of people with a cause, but Sam couldn’t help feeling they hadn’t really thought it through.

  “Why?” he asked.

  “What d’you mean, ‘why?’” asked Rob, clearly offended. “Because they control our lives. All of us. And impoverish nations. All for something they don’t even control!”

  “Yeah, but don’t you think something else might be going on?”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know. It just doesn’t make sense for Mutha to keep up the pretence, does it? I mean, if it’s a living, thinking…thing, why does it want to pretend that it’s not?”

  “That’s what we’re trying to find out,” said Rob.

  “Right. And how’s that going?”

  “Okay. It’s going okay.” Rob stared out into the freezing night and sighed. “Listen, Sam…”

  “Yeah?”

  “I didn’t come out here to…I wanted to apologize…I’m not…I sounded like a jerk in there. Of course I want to get Bethy out. And soon. But I need somewhere to take her. Somewhere better than here. D’you understand?”

  Sam nodded. Rob smiled his easy smile, stood up and went back inside.

  “Isn’t he great?” whispered Mary.

  “He’s okay,” said Sam quietly. “But he’s never going to find what he’s looking for.”

  “Yes, he will,” said Mary. “He’s very clever. We’ve found lots of files about some of the other stuff they’ve done. It’s only a matter of time.”

  “These files were in the small offices?”

  “Yes.”

  “But there was nothing important in them?”

  “Well…not that we could use.”

  Sam smiled. Rob was the kind of person it was easy to like, the kind that people would follow to the edge of the abyss and beyond. But he doubted the golden boy had really thought things through. Really considered what a world without Hermes would be like, or what sort of place it would become if Mutha no longer pretended to be a mere machine.

  There was something in this, though. Something that made sense, but he couldn’t think. He was tired and the buzzing in his head was distracting.

  “Come on,” said Mary softly, taking his hand. “Let’s go upstairs.”

  Chapter 21

  THE NEXT MORNING SAM WOKE slowly and watched as the first sliver of light crept through a crack in the roof and slid slowly across the bedroom floor. The air was cold, but he was warm, nestled under several blankets and with Mary snuggling at his side.

  He closed his eyes and thought about Rob’s quest.

  His parents had told him that the plex was sentient and that Hermes concealed that fact. Their reasons for doing so were obvious. But what about Mutha? It was a living, thinking thing, so why wouldn’t it want the world to know? The secret couldn’t be kept unless both sides had an interest in the deception.

  There had to be something else. Something that Hermes Industries knew (or possessed) that prevented the great plex from being truly free.

  Either way, he really couldn’t see an upside for the planet’s population. Whether HI controlled the plex or Mutha itself did, it would make no difference to anyone. The truth was that almost everyone was totally dependent on the network for their day to day lives. Well, except for some people in the Wilds, and even there the great brain was making inroads. The number of small towns and tiny settlements with access was growing daily. Even most of those wide-spot-in-the-road places in Arizona that he and Nathan had driven through had been hooked up and linked in.

  He was just starting to drift off to sleep again when he was jarred awake by the sound of an engine. It was far away at first, and for a moment he allowed himself to imagine that it was the GTO. But, of course, it wasn’t. It was something old, though, and judging by its smooth roar, well taken care of.

  Mary opened her eyes and scowled.

  “Oh, crap,” she murmured. “She’s back.”

  Sam sat up, his heart suddenly racing, but Mary reached up and pulled him down.

  “Don’t get up. It’s too early.”

  He disentangled himself, got dressed and went down, taking the stairs three at a time. The kitchen door was closed, but he could hear voices. Familiar voices. He pushed the door gently and it swung slowly inwards revealing Alma, windswept and dusty, sitting in one of the chairs with a mug of tea in her hand.

  “Sam!”

  She was surprised, but smiling. A proper smile. A smile that meant it.

  “I told you before—you’ve got to stop following me around,” he said, grinning.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” she asked.

  “Vacation. I thought I’d try surfing. Or, wait…is that San Diego?”

  “You two know each other?”

  Rob was
building up the fire and smiling as usual, but it wasn’t convincing.

  “Yes,” said Alma. “Sam keeps turning up, like a bad penny.”

  “Well, how about that,” said Rob, pouring himself a mug of tea. “Small world.”

  He strolled over to Alma’s chair, sat on the arm and stroked her cheek. She pulled away, irritated, but the message was clear: this is mine.

  Somehow, it had never occurred to Sam that she might be in a relationship.

  “We met in Century City,” he said, hoping that his voice didn’t betray his disappointment, but certain that it did.

  “No,” said Alma. “It was Hillford.”

  “Oh…yeah. Right.”

  Rob slipped his hand around Alma’s shoulders and while it was obvious that she wasn’t pleased, she let him do it. Sam turned away. He couldn’t stay in the room pretending everything was fine. Not yet. He needed time to process.

  “Sam…are you coming back to bed or what?”

  Mary was standing at the bottom of the stairs wearing Sam’s coat and almost nothing else.

  He wondered if the day could get any worse.

  “Well?” She grinned and ran back upstairs, giggling.

  That was all he needed. Jokes. He followed her upstairs and retrieved the coat.

  “Very funny.”

  “You should’ve seen your face!” she said, getting back into bed and pulling the blankets close. “So you know her?”

  “Yeah. A little.” He shrugged on the coat. “I’m going for a walk.”

  The morning air was crisp and cold and a veil of silvery fog hung about the city, softening the lines of the buildings and making it almost beautiful again. Sam set off down the street, avoiding the rusting hulks of long-abandoned cars and steering clear of the dark alleys, most of which exuded the kind of stench that could kill a dog at forty paces.

  The buzzing in his head was worse outside, though better than it had been in Century City. It still hurt, though, so he stopped and went through his pockets for the hundredth time, hoping against hope that he’d somehow missed the pill box the other ninety-nine.

  Nope.

  He walked a few more blocks up a steep grade and noticed a small hill emerging from the fog. It was covered in scrubby bushes and seemed to have some kind of ruin on the top, like an abandoned castle. Sam picked up his pace and headed for it. There was nothing like a strenuous scramble up a hill for clearing the brain.