by Nick Wilford
“So what did Ezmerelda do?”
“They brought her into Government HQ to try out working in different departments. She was in the communications department, who administer the newsfeeds, and when her supervisor was called to a meeting she sent out a report that you had been left to die. They had to do something to restore their image.”
Brilliant. But she must have mentioned Mallinger... “Did the report say anything else?”
He hesitated. “Look, I know you’ve been to the so-called Under-Region and I know they’re not demons. I’m not going to pretend otherwise, and I want to see big changes, and you two fine minds could really help in that. Yes, she talked about the young boy you went to see, who is being left to rot - along with all the other people in his homeland. The report’s been deleted, but I’m telling you this because anyone could tell you what it said.”
The skin on Wellesbury’s arms prickled. Was he getting close to the truth. “Tell me more about the Under-Region - Loretania, I mean.”
“I’m sorry, there’s not enough time,” said Tindleson, raising his hands apologetically. “But basically, we are able to maintain the perfect life we have because of the desperate state they’re in.”
“I don’t understand,” said Wellesbury, then shrugged. Stick to what’s important for now. How can we help Mallinger?
A plan formed - a tiny inkling at first, that quickly grew and grew until he wanted to shout with glee. They were prepared to let him die in agony, and he was supposed to go back to being a dumb face in the crowd. How about they get a taste of what he had been through?
“Can I see Ezmerelda?”
Tindleson offered an apologetic shrug. “After the stunt she pulled, she’s being kept at home until they figure out what to do with her. But you are to keep away from her. If you speak to her, you’ll be hauled straight back to the Examiner.”
“Right, okay. I want to see the boy - Mallinger - cured. I know you took the poison out of me, but would it be possible to infect someone from this country with it while they’re here?”
Tindleson’s eyes widened. “Wow, you do think big. Difficult, but I think I can make it happen.”
“Right. This is what I want you to do...”
Chapter 19
Early the next morning, Histender bustled into the science lab after being admitted by Tindleson. His disdain for his surroundings was evident on his face, and he fixed the Chief Scientist with a piercing glare.
“So what’s the meaning of this, Tindleson?” the leader puffed. “I’m an extremely busy man, as you well know.”
“I promise I won’t take up too much of your time, Lordship,” said Tindleson in a smooth, reassuring tone. “After our recent work cleansing those two unfortunate young people of that foul disease, we’re having to take a few extra measures. The disease is gone. However, some vestiges of the virus may linger in our atmosphere. I’m working hard to eliminate those, but in the meantime, I’m giving a booster shot to the immune system of all government officials as an extra precaution.”
Histender narrowed his eyes. “No way we should be able to pick it up.”
“Nor should Ezmerelda Dontible have been. All the same, she did – and not in the Under-Region, but here, while she was being held at the Centre.”
The Leader sighed. “Very well, do what you must. But don’t take up too much of my valuable time.”
Tindleson inclined his head. “I promise you, Lordship, the procedure will take but a matter of minutes. Now, if you’d just like to climb into the suspended animation chamber...”
Histender did so, with a degree of difficulty. Tindleson regarded his expansive form. It wasn’t possible to put on weight with the synthetic food they consumed, but Histender had had his appearance altered to look more prosperous and important. A pretty ridiculous idea.
A few seconds later, Histender was floating in the gravitationally reduced environment of the chamber, looking as peaceful as a sleeping baby. The same robotic arm that had flushed the poison out of the two kids’ systems inserted a needle into his arm. Tindleson felt a shiver at the magnitude of what he was doing – although it hadn’t been his idea. The Wellesbury kid had some gumption, he’d give him that. Were things really going to change forever?
A few minutes later Histender emerged from the tube, grumbling that he felt no different, and went back to his office with his security personnel.
Over the course of the afternoon and into the evening, using several of the stasis machines at the same time, Tindleson and his staff sent for, and treated, all the Heads of Department, along with other notable personnel and various lower-level staff. Among these were the Head of Communications, the Heads of Food Production and Waste Management, the Chief Financial Officer, and Gennikin, the Chief Adviser. Tindleson dealt with the last personally, and got an immense thrill from it. There was one villain in definite need of a comeuppance.
*
The next day, Wellesbury came in after another miserable day at school. He’d only been back for two days after his procedure, and was still being shunned, not just by his former close friends, but by casual acquaintances and people he didn’t even know. They would swerve aside as he moved down the corridor, with occasional shouts of “Hey, demon boy!” To which of course he didn’t respond, but that was only making things worse. Today, he’d found a large sign stuck to his locker, which read: “Do Not Touch! Property of Demon Boy. Infection Control.” This was surrounded by skulls and exclamation marks. There was nothing he could do except crumple the paper up and stick it in the waste disposal... and gloat at the thought of what was coming.
Both his parents were still at work. He retreated to his room and flicked on his pad to check the government feed. The message should be there by now. Yes: just the one message, repeating over and over, to make sure no one missed it. He broke into a huge grin as he read the content.
“Dear Citizens:
We interrupt regular broadcasts to bring you news on a special report into the Under-Region. Our research shows that it is not a hellish place filled with demons, but a country populated by people just like you and I. Except these people are dying of hideous disease, usually at a very young age. This country, Loretania, is not underground; we believe we could reach it on foot if we were allowed to travel far enough, although our reporters travelled there through a hidden portal. Please turn on your TV for a look at our exclusive footage.”
He practically sprinted to the living room and grabbed the remote. Was it really happening? Ezmerelda must have kept her pad to herself after all - or at least the memory chip from it, and given it to Tindleson when he visited under the pretext of a follow-up check.
He gaped at the image that filled the screen. The slightly wobbly footage showed the street at Fusterbury, instantly transporting him back to that wretched place. As he watched, a young boy of about five coughed and retched before keeling over in the mud. Wellesbury shuddered at the memory, and watched himself on the screen running over to come to the boy’s aid.
The film ran on for another few minutes and then jumped. It must have gone back to the start. Wellesbury flicked channels. Every one was showing the exact same thing.
There had been more of the message on the pad. He tore his eyes away from the screen to continue reading.
“We believe that as a people we have been lied to long enough. We live in absolute luxury while those who have been labelled demons exist in a state of degradation we can hardly begin to comprehend. If you want to join us and help make a change, come to the Town Square immediately. We hope to see you there.”
Wellesbury blinked. Mallinger - would Tindleson have been able to get to him in time?
He put his shoes back on and walked over to the window. People – some on their own, others in twos or threes, talking urgently – were streaming past in the same direction, towards the Town Square. All across the city, people would have read the same message and seen the same footage.
Wellesbury left the house and joi
ned them, darting his head from side to side, trying to look inconspicuous. He didn’t particularly want to bump into his former friends, but he couldn’t help but feel a pang of satisfaction at how Hedgeson would react to it all.
As he walked, he tuned into the snippets of conversation around him.
“...never seen anything like that.”
“How can you die if you’re under a hundred? This has got to be fake.”
“Looked pretty real to me, but it was weird. All that... brown. What’s that all about?”
There was no way people’s entire mindset could be altered in a few minutes. But even if everyone believed Fusterbury existed, how could the situation be changed?
Well, first things first – get people on their side.
The Town Square was a large open space – actually rectangular in shape – dead in the middle of the city. There were various pillars, each topped with a statue of one of the glorious Reformers who had created Harmonia, and benches scattered around. Wellesbury occasionally hung out there with his friends – or had hung out – but he’d never seen it as busy as this.
Crowds of people stood around, chatting excitedly. There were little kids, who probably didn’t know why everyone was there but were caught up in the excitement, chasing each other around the pillars and bumping into people. Wellesbury couldn’t see to the other end of the square. He pushed his way through, looking for Tindleson and Ezmerelda. With all the turmoil, he doubted anyone would do anything if he and Ez were found together.
The stage was being set up. Then he saw her. Ezmerelda appeared, carrying a large dining table. He started to run.
“Here, let me help with that.”
She looked up from concentrating on where she was going, and broke into a massive smile. “There you are! You can help, but these don’t have any weight to them, you know.”
Nevertheless, he grabbed one side of the table and helped her put it into place at the end of a row of three others.
She grinned at him again, and he couldn’t help feeling a flutter at the warmth of that grin, which also had a cheekiness to it. “I’m off school after what I did, so I’ve been here longer, helping George set up.”
“Do you think this is actually going to work?”
“I really hope so. It was a genius idea you had, I’ll give you that. I really do think we could change things. People are desperate to listen to something other than government propaganda.” She leaned against the edge of the table, arms crossed, radiating a confidence that Wellesbury did not entirely share.
“Hard to believe it all seems to be coming together. Where is Tindleson, by the way?”
Wellesbury jumped as he felt a hearty clap on his shoulder, and turned to see the affable features of the scientist arranged in a grin even wider than Ezmerelda’s. “Couldn’t help hearing my name there. Great to see you again, my friend. Welcome to the start of the Second Great Reform.”
“Hello, Dr Tindleson. How’s everything going?”
“Call me George,” he said. “I think we’re just about ready.”
“Where did you get the tables from?” asked Wellesbury.
“Oh, we got them from the dining hall in government headquarters. Had to make two journeys down here, but they’re easy to lift, and now we have a serviceable stage,” said Tindleson. “Speaking of which, I think it’s about time to start the show.”
He patted a small item of electrical equipment beside him, which had what looked like a film projector protruding from one end and a microphone held in a bracket. He removed this and passed it to Ezmerelda.
Wellesbury didn’t have any complaints. He was happy to let her speak; she had much more confidence and charisma, and he knew she would capture the crowd. Also, he still didn’t know the full story behind Loretania, due to the limited time he’d had to speak to Tindleson. Hopefully, he would have filled her in during his visit to her home.
She caught him looking at her and he smiled. “You can do this, Ez.”
“Thanks. I’m nervous, but I know I need to do this.” She looked out at the sea of faces she would be addressing.
“You’ll be fine. Just... charm them. You’ve certainly done that with me.”
Did he really just say that? He looked away, embarrassed, but when he glanced back Ezmerelda was sporting a radiant smile. Her eyes sparkled, seeming to pulse with energy. Wellesbury returned the smile sheepishly.
“Well, I hate to break up the moment, but we’d better get a move on or everyone will get bored and go home.” They both looked at Tindleson and jumped.
“You’re right. Wish me luck, boys.” Holding the microphone, Ezmerelda climbed onto one of the tables using the chair that had been brought for the purpose. Wellesbury resisted the urge to give her a hand up.
She coughed into the microphone, and the sound was massively magnified, seeming to bounce off the walls of the buildings surrounding the square. The mob abruptly ceased its frenzied chatter and, as one, turned towards the source of the noise.
“Thank you for your attention, and thanks for coming here today,” Ezmerelda started, her sweet voice ringing out over the heads of the watchers. “Most of you are here because of what you’ve read on the news feed, and what you’ve seen on the TV. But for any who haven’t seen it, I’m going to show you what I’m talking about.”
Tindleson fiddled with the controls on the projection unit which he’d placed on top of another table, and a large, shimmering rectangle appeared in the air just behind them, about twenty metres long by twelve metres high, playing the same footage Wellesbury had seen on TV earlier. The effect of seeing it on such a large scale was breathtaking. The people appeared life-sized, and Wellesbury felt he was there again, practically able to smell the sewage river. He scanned the crowd, and saw they were similarly transfixed. People were jostling each other to get a better look.
“Now, for those who don’t know, this is what the government calls the Under-Region,” said Ezmerelda. “In reality, this is a city called Fusterbury, in a country called Loretania. I believe, in distance, it is not too far from us. But I and my friend Wellesbury,” she waved a hand and he responded by grinning like an idiot, “travelled there via a portal which the science department were in the process of fixing.” Wellesbury glanced at Tindleson, and the look he gave implied he might have been rather deliberately lax about the completion of that job.
“I filmed this footage myself, and the people I spoke to were among the friendliest I have ever met. Amazing how they keep their spirits up in the face of so much suffering and depredation. For example, here we have a boy wracked by disease; not long afterwards, he died. Not at age a hundred and twenty, but at age six. And this happens all the time.
“Shortly before we made the journey, a young man of sixteen, the same age as us, made the journey to our country through the selfsame portal. He was looking for help and kindness and perhaps an end to the afflictions that plagued his people. What we gave him was condemnation and imprisonment. We called him a demon, yet he is really just the same as us. Thankfully, I managed to get to him to cure him - and just in time.”
Wellesbury’s heart leapt, and relief flooded his body. So they’d saved Mallinger after all. But where was he?
“At this point I’d like to introduce you to my great friend, Wellesbury. Come on up here, Welles.” He felt his ears flame red and shrank back from the platform, but Tindleson caught him from behind and gave a gentle push. Reluctantly, he climbed up onto the tables. “I’ve got him to thank for setting me on this path of discovery. He was intrigued by the appearance of Mallinger in the city, and bravely managed to get into the jail to see him. When we went to visit Fusterbury and meet his family, we both unfortunately contracted the disease.”
Wellesbury breathed a mental sigh of relief that she’d glossed over the details of how exactly she had picked it up.
“On our return home we were cleared of the disease by the good scientist down there, Dr George Tindleson – I won’t ask him to come up
unless he wants to.” But Tindleson climbed up anyway, beaming at Ezmerelda with paternal pride. “After our surgeries were finished, Dr Tindleson managed to get into the prison to operate on Mallinger too. While treating Mallinger, he found some very interesting information in his DNA. I’ll let him take over.” She passed Tindleson the microphone.
“Thank you, Ezmerelda,” said the scientist, looking remarkably relaxed. Wellesbury’s eyes darted around nervously, expecting at any moment to see governmental goons come marching up, haul them bodily off the platform and throw them into jail. But they wouldn’t, would they?
“Yes, hello everyone. It’s nice to see you all here on what I hope will be a momentous day for Harmonia. Now, I’m going to give you an idea of the kind of things our beloved government does.
“Wellesbury here,” Tindleson clapped him heartily on the back, “was the only one who seemed to care about the wellbeing of the intruder Mallinger when he first arrived here. So much so that he and Ezmerelda travelled through the portal to Mallinger’s home town, despite not knowing what dangers they would face.
“I’m very proud of him. But there was another good reason why Wellesbury was so concerned, despite his basic decent nature. Wellesbury and Mallinger are twins.”
What??? Wellesbury’s jaw went slack. What was George talking about? He glanced at the crowd, who were silent - listening with absolute rapt attention.
“As you all know, only one child is allowed per family - because after the first, the parents are no longer considered to be a pure source. And it’s the defining principle of this government for everything to be pure. I looked back over the birth records. By the way, I detest this practice of creating children in the laboratory using tissue from the parents. There were other ways of doing it, long ago, but they were outlawed as messy and dangerous, and in fact, such practices would be impossible now - but maybe that can be changed.” He grinned. “The chief scientists at that time – I was just an underling, and knew nothing of what was going on – made some kind of serious mistake when they were making Wellesbury, as it were, and ended up with two. Now the idea is for the baby to be a refined version of its parents, so that with each new generation, the human race gets stronger, more perfect. With twins, only one can be pure – and I guess Wellesbury is lucky it turned out to be him. They chucked the other one out like waste – except you can’t vapourise a baby. So they shipped one off to the godforsaken Fusterbury to fend for himself. Maybe Mallinger was always destined to return here, where he truly belongs.”