‘Something has! And I do not mean that I have discovered a mistake — either of yours or mine.’
‘What do you mean, then?’
‘Something spiritual — not psychiatric. I cannot explain it. But Father Stillwell is needed … not exactly here in this room, but via this room.’
Jane stared across at her. ‘Or is it merely that we’re going out of our craze?’ Jane blushed crimson and corrected herself. ‘Out of our minds?’
‘It depends on how you look at it. But we mustn’t try and pretend we understand things that have no explanation. That is what Dr Braknell does … What is the use of diagnosing schizophrenia — when it’s merely a word? What is lumbago but a back-ache? What is a back-ache but lumbago? It goes around in circles, Jane. Do you wish to do that, by calling Dr Braknell now?’
‘Stillwell is very likely to phone Braknell the moment we tell him what’s happened.’
‘We do not know what has happened! Can you honestly say that Neil is suffering from any known illness?’
‘He is catatonic.’
Ann Marie said, ‘Yes. He does not move. That is what is meant by “catatonic” … We talk jargon to hide our ignorance. It is so easy! But does it solve the problem?’
Dr Jane said, ‘I’ll phone Stillwell. But I think you need him more than the patient does.’
‘That may be true.’
*
Celandine said, ‘I feel calm. Suddenly.’
Neil said, ‘Because the Thoughtquake is subsiding.’
‘More than that. I feel the power of … of some force which has been a heresy under the Regime, something my parents dreaded even to think about: I mean the power of Prayer.’
Neil said, ‘Then even from this distance we must be in range of the PONEM.’
Celandine said, ‘I must trust you. If you fail in your … fantastic mission, it must be my own decision, not just yours.’
Neil said, ‘Suppose the PONEM goes unstable? — Before I can act? Without a Prayer Machine we are poised in space — without a chance. We are committed to the future as it now is, and not what anyone can change it into. That means the Screaming Room for both of us.’
Celandine said, ‘That means Hell. Yes?’
‘It’s an odd word for you to use.’
‘I know … I think the printout you asked for should be coming through any second. To get it, I have to go past the guards to the Master Infopoint. It’s dangerous. But if the Puter hasn’t yet confirmed an Infringement they can’t stop me because I’m still a rated Party Member. I am also trying to arrange a way of getting you out of Central Pool and back to the PONEM.’
‘How?’
‘I’ll explain when I get back …’
Neil waited. Outside, in the darkness, nothing moved. He knew what this meant. The whole of Central Pool was under observation. Somewhere out there, Farson would be fighting for his freedom, probably arguing — or begging — with the immaculate Dr Rone. Rone — so like Braknell. Was Rone his counterpart in this, the other Möbius hemisphere? Following the dogma of the era; sticking to orthodoxy without questioning it? Accepting the current whims of official doctrine no matter where it led or how it operated?
Stuart Farson would break down under pressure — Neil was sure of it. He would ‘cooperate’ …
Rone had said, after closing the port-hole on that terrible spectacle of a woman under brain-torture, ‘It seems you have a choice, Mr Prentice. So far, you have chosen your friends badly. Did you but know it, they’re not just heretics, they’re evil. Given the opportunity, they could wreck the whole future of the species. Harmfree?’
‘No thanks.’
Rone had smiled, very slightly, as if spotting that Neil had refused on ideological grounds … he knew Neil needed one desperately, ‘Take Farson. Haven’t you noticed the weak lines in his face? Being weak himself, he wishes to preserve the weak. But being weak, he will betray you, when it comes to the blast-off. He will be thinking exclusively of his own trog — once the luxury of being a martyr wears off. You owe him nothing, Mr Prentice. You are merely the victim of circumstances. You can plead ignorance. You can say that you were taken to the village without even being told what it was all about.’ The thin smile once more. ‘You think I don’t know what goes on? Wels Narbiton suspected, months ago. Tragically, he is unable to provide proof. But you can. You can tell us where the most dangerous people in the world are hiding. No doubt you have not been told just how dangerous they are. But did you know that Dr Krister allows them to reproduce?’
Neil had said, ‘No doubt Dr Krister doesn’t recognize any difference between overt Forenthoris and the recessive gene.’
‘He told you that, did he? Forenthoris is the slime of decadence, Mr Prentice. There is nothing to substantiate the genetic theory. Forenthoris is self-damnation. It is the awareness of the pituitary gland of the Natural Unworthiness of the Trog. Dr Krister is contaminated by the illegal thinkup of the IoM. I assume you do not know of them? If you do, you must not hesitate to file an Infringement. You have the right — the obligation — as a citizen, to prosecute … that is a principle of law unchanged for centuries. And frankly, if you don’t …’ he led the way out of the building and headed back toward the Norm Area. ‘But of course, you wouldn’t be so foolish. You will be thinking — like me — of the Deadly Lampshade.’
‘The what?’
‘Part of our heritage, Mr Prentice. “He who lights the room shall not benefit from the light” — surely you’ve heard that?’
‘No. But —’
‘In other words, it signifies that the skin of the unworthy is no better than parchment … You haven’t studied history quite as thoroughly as I thought. However, what you do nano rests with you. Egologic is no substitute for mental hygiene. You haven’t much time left. You do know that?’
Almost serene now, Celandine returned from the Master Infopoint. In her arms was a heavy wad of printout. She said expressionlessly, ‘Total genetic history of Forenthoric traits. I used the Director’s own coding.’ She chucked the sheaf of printout on the bed. ‘It’s all there — the pedigrees, the genetic traceback right to G Block … all of it.’
He gazed at it, awestruck. ‘So it is true. And once I’ve passed it through the PONEM —’
She cut him short, her voice an urgent whisper. ‘Look out there.’
‘Police! Dozens of them!’
She murmured, ‘They have special pursuit magnecraft — with a total laser fire-power of forty meganodes … that’s enough to drill through armour plate from a range of one kilometre.’
‘But I must get through. I must!’
Celandine spoke coolly, as if her destiny had gone past the point of no return. ‘There’s an automag — like Narbiton’s — parked in the Norm Area. Via the Puter I’ve programmed it to take you direct to the PONEM. You won’t need your black box.’
‘Which is the Norm Area?’
She opened the chink in the curtain a fraction.
Outside, floodlights covered every millimetre of Central Pool. ‘I’ll never make it.’
She said, ‘Your automag will be showing a flashing identification light … just to the right of the Receptor Hall. See where I mean?’
‘But the —’
‘— the floodlights. Yes. You won’t get out of this doorthrough unless you can shoot them out.’
‘But with what?’
‘You saw the direction I took to get at the Master infopoint — just down the inner subroute? It leads to the armoury. They’ve taken off the electronic locks in case the guards need any minilasers.’
‘But aren’t there people on duty there?’
‘One man. And I’m going to seduce him … pretend to, I mean. Luckily the guards on the infopoint have been seconded.’
‘If anyone can pull this off, it’s you. But how much time —’
‘We’re wasting it, Neil. You’ve got to wait till I get him out of the way. Then grab a minilaser. The safety lock will be off that, too
. All you do is pull the trigger. If … anything goes wrong, use it on me, then yourself. Watch the subroute from the door. Don’t waste a nanosecond. Got it?’
‘What then?’
She handed him a kind of punched tag. ‘This card contains the User Code for starting the automag. I’ve already thunk it into the Puter to get you authorization. You have to insert the tag into the slot on the right of the dashboard. The mag will take you to the PONEM. When you’ve finished what you have to do there, use the tag again. It will take you out to the Biotic Danger Zone. You can guess where. Hang the tag round your neck … like so. Don’t wait to say goodbye to your Celandine. You’ll need every second you’ve got.’ She stood there and gazed at him for a few moments. Her eyes were tearful.
Neil said huskily, ‘Take care.’ It was horribly meaningless and he knew it.
*
Waiting. It seemed interminable. And all the time the security arrangements were closing in. The loudspeakers, wired to multifono, were directing patients out of their quarters, herding them into Receptor Hall. The voice was Rone’s. It echoed and double-echoed around the entire complex, sounding calm and capable. Somewhere, farther away, sirens were sounding and getting nearer. There was a terrorized shout, then another. A scream whimpered down to a sob.
Neil looked through the chink, saw Farson running frantically toward the perimeter wire. There was a sizzling flash and he bounced off it. The wire was electrified; but not enough to kill.
Farson ran back toward the recreation area. Then a slim prong of laser-light was directed at his legs. He was instantly truncated. Guards closed in on him and carried him away — toward the Deviants’ Ward.
Sweating profusely, Neil crossed the room and glanced down the subroute. Celandine was still chatting to the guard. He showed no sign of moving yet. Celandine was marvellously calm, leaning gracefully against the wall of the corridor. He heard her laughing intimately as if the guard had made some very personal joke. But still they talked.
The sirens outside wailed down the scale as the vehicles they heralded arrived at the main gate. There were more short, sharp instructions on the speakers, this time not Rone but evidently the secret police … an updated gestapo who could generate even more dread than their predecessors. It was impossible to tell what was happening from listening to the crisp announcements. Neil could only guess. Had Celandine, in calling up information concealed for over a hundred years, inadvertently revealed which among the inmates of Central Pool carried the recessive gene? Was history repeating itself — the persecution of the Jews, vividly portrayed to the world, on film, after the horrors of the Eichmann camps had been revealed, echoed now in the mass purging of latent Forenthorics? Deadly Lampshade. With Improvements …
Finally, just as Neil was giving up hope, Celandine and the guard disappeared into a room which led off the subroute. Celandine didn’t give a backward glance. Neil gave it only three seconds. Then he made a dash for the armoury.
The minilaser was a weapon the size of a Sten gun. But when Neil used it from the seethrough of Celandine’s room its colossal fire-power was clear. He aimed it at the nearest lamp-stanchion first. The light went out and the top of the stanchion melted away. There were furious shouts and the sounds of a stampede. But thirty seconds later Neil was out in the centre of the recreation area, picking off the lights one by one, while somehow clamping the heavy printout between his knees.
The bleeper ident light was flashing conspicuously on the roof of the automag. Neil found it without difficulty; but everything was blurred and indistinct, as if the Thoughtquake hadn’t entirely subsided. Instinctively he glanced up at the sky. Massive cunim had piled itself into an inverted pyramid. It was directly overhead, half obscuring the moon. Continuous lightning from deep within the cloudmass tinted the surface of the giant anvil. The rain still held off.
Neil was conscious only of the need to hold onto the armful of printout. Only instinct guided him to the mag, which was not like Kin’s — full of fishing tackle and sailing gear — but hygienically perfect and smelling of synthetic fibre.
The alarm system started clanging and he struggled desperately with the band around his neck, unable to get the tag off. No amount of force would snap the nylon cord.
With nothing to cut it with there was only one possible alternative. He crouched low by the dashboard and inserted the tag while it was still held fast around his neck.
He was only just in time. By a hair’s-breadth the mag cleared the exit just as a steel arm thrust itself out of the concrete guardhouse. It tore the metal side of the mag and left a gaping hole. But evidently no damage had been done to the mechanism.
Behind him searchlights probed every millimetre of the approach road. Powerful lasers melted the roadside, perilously close. But by now the outer-shell buildings of the Complex screened him off from laser attack. Instead, masonry sizzled nearby and a section of reinforced concrete was pulverized.
Motorway at last; and the speedometer indicated 300 knots, though the figures on the dial kept blurring over and Neil suddenly realized that it was because of his tears.
He dried them and watched transfixed as landscape ripped past him. The effect was entirely as if the mag were stationary and the ground moving; but when the deceleration began he was abruptly thrown forward and nearly knocked unconscious against the facia.
The vehicle stopped and lowered itself evenly on its touchpads.
The huge illuminated sign which read NUMBER ONE PONEM glared starkly out into the night.
But there was also a smaller display on the video screen at the gate.
At first he stared at it without comprehension. The words were quite clear but they refused to enter his brain. Instead a terrible pulse had started in his frontal lobe. It was abrupt, like a spasm of migraine.
He knew it was something to do with the message on video and he made a frantic bid to concentrate.
Slowly the software poured into his brain, word by word …
*
PONEM SHUT DOWN. ALL PERSONNEL REPORT AT CONTROL
BUILDING NORTON.
BECAUSE OF REDUCED HEAT DISSIPATION IT IS FROM THIS DATE
UNTIL FURTHER COMMUNICON VIOLATION-ONE TO USE MORE
THAN THIRTY THREE AND ONE THIRD PER CENT BASIC POWER PER
PERSON IN MEGANODES.
ANY UNAUTHORIZED ENTRY TO PONEM SUBJECT TO IMMEDIATE
LASER DE-LIMBING.
AUTHORITY: CENTRAL CONTROL WESTMINSTER LONDON
MESSAGE ENDS.
*
A fork of lightning injected a billion volts into the PONEM’s protection system.
Neil fell unconscious as the single thud of thunder rocked the mag and left it to be impacted by hailstones like slugs of lead.
He stayed like that until the sirens of the police mags dominated the sounds of the storm.
10
Ann Marie was astonished at herself. Even Jane Schuber had turned away, blushing, as the patient, formerly locked into total immobility, suddenly writhed on the bed until he ejaculated. Once more the patient was stilled and silent; but during those few seconds when he had, apparently without masturbating, released so much semen, Ann Marie matured in spirit.
She had become a nun.
For years she had deeply questioned her motives for taking her vows. It was so fashionable to attribute chastity to frigidity that she had gradually suspected, more and more, that what really guided her was penis fear.
Now she knew this to be false. Although she was in no way sexually stimulated she felt neither disgust nor contempt. Rather did she feel aside from it all, able to know sex for what it meant. She could stand back and analyse sympathetically the lusts of people who did not elect to sublimate them.
And, to her, it did seem as if Neil’s frenetic spasms amounted to a desperate attempt to communicon … communicate.
Communicon in a prayer machine.
Holy Communion at the Altar?
To her the two seemed analogous, as though in fact
Neil were somehow trying to reach through space and time, exactly as she did in prayer …
‘Father Stillwell? I badly wish to talk with you.’
‘What is it, Ann Marie? You need not be shocked.’
She smiled a little. ‘I am not. We could go out to the podium. Yes?’
‘In this storm? You can smile at a time like this?’
‘The patient is very far from being dead. Because of this, I smile a bit.’
Stillwell glanced out of the window at the torrential rain. ‘Do we have to go outside and get drenched?’
‘The patient must not hear us talk.’
‘Is there any question of his being able to listen?’ He glanced at Jane Schuber.
Jane said, ‘We can’t know. Yes … perhaps it would be better outside.’
Out on the podium, Ann Marie tilted her head up at Stillwell. ‘See? Everything in the world is wet except you and me.’
‘I do not understand your mood, Ann Marie.’
‘But you will.’
‘What’s on your mind? Going on what Dr Braknell told me on the phone, the patient is in great danger.’
‘Did you have to call him? I wanted your opinion.’
‘Young woman. I don’t know what’s going on in your head, but Dr Braknell thinks —’
‘Dr Braknell does not think. He has only the great fat brain to think with. That is not enough.’
‘What is enough?’
‘Faith.’
‘In a black hole?’
‘Father, as it happens, I never really left the Order. You believe me?’
‘You make it hard for me to know what to believe. “Faith” is a process that involves making up your mind.’
‘Now I make it up.’
‘Why now?’
‘Because now I understand the patient.’
‘How did you … acquire this understanding?’
‘It will be hard to convince you that I have not sinned. Kissing and being kissed. Sensually.’
Stillwell said more gently, ‘Is it me that has to be convinced — in the final analysis?’
The Prayer Machine Page 21