“What about some meaningless maths? A formula that looks complicated and important, but leads nowhere. I’ll get Gret to create one, and you can write it down for them.”
thatwouldbe … interestingbutwhymust … itmake … nosensewecould … usethenew … inversecubelaw …
“It has to make no sense.” Greg broke into the thought-stream before Myriam could launch into a long, involved explanation of some concept that only Gretel would have any hope of understanding.
Eight years old! What would they be like when they were twenty … or twelve, even? “We’ve got to try to confuse them so thoroughly that we delay any plans they may hatch. And we don’t want to give them anything they might be able to use. We don’t want to do anything to get Raecorp too interested in your potential.”
Sometimes, it was frustrating. The Babies found it almost impossible to be illogical. The games and the meaningless clues hurt something deep in their intellectual make-up. But illogic was the only logic, right now. It was all part of the plan.
Which is no plan at all.
The thought sneaked out, even though he tried at the last second to hold it back.
donotfeel … despairgreg … iweknowthat … youaretrying … therewillbea … solutionyouwillfindit.
“Yeah. We’ll find it. But when, damn it? We’re just fighting a holding campaign at the moment. We can’t keep them running in circles for ever.”
wecantry … youwouldlike … tovisitus.
For a moment, the question failed to register. The Babies’ odd way of asking a question often left Greg wondering whether it had even been asked. But this time was sure.
“Visit you? In the complex?”
Why the hell not? It couldn’t do any more harm than had already been done.
iwewould … liketomeet… morethanyourminds … anditmighthelp … youustoplan.
“Yeah, it just might.” Suddenly, Greg felt excited. Sometimes, it was hard to remember that none of them, except Susan and Erik, had even seen the Babies in the flesh. And the videos seemed, somehow, so impersonal. Like everything to do with the project. “How would we arrange that?”
iwewill … asklarsentolet … youvisitus … latelyherefuses us … nothing.
Greg smiled. Myriam was developing a sense of humour. One day, she might even learn to tell a joke – but she’d have to do a hell of a lot of work on her delivery.
“Go ahead. We’d love to get inside the cell-block finally. But you’d better bake us a cake. We’ll be your first real guests.”
iwe … cannotwehaveno … kitchen … iweregret …
“Hey, I was only joking, Myri. Really. Just joking.”
Maybe that sense of humour needed just a little more developing.
* * *
October 25, 1990
“Why can’t we?” MacIntyre sipped his coffee and looked up at Larsen, who was standing with his back to the office window.
“I don’t like it. Seven of them, traipsing round the complex. How do we know what they’ll notice? They’re not an excursion of stupid schoolkids, you know. They’ve all got IQs that leave ninety-nine per cent of people back in the Stone Age.”
“Look, they won’t be here to study the workings of the complex. We just take them to the observation room, let them meet, and see if we have more luck with them than we did with the other two they asked for.”
“We don’t even know they’re asking for them. They just write their damned names over and over on pieces of paper. Maybe they’re just picking up the names from somewhere and writing them down. They might just sit and stare right through them, like they did with Susan and Erik. They’ve never had any contact with the ‘tank’ kids. Why would they ask to meet them?”
MacIntyre reacted stubbornly. “How would I know? I just think it’s a good idea to try. To see what happens. Lord knows, we’re not having any luck with any other avenues. If it goes on like this, Brady’s going to cut more than your budget.”
The final straw.
“Okay. We try them. But if there’s no result, they don’t come back a second time. I’m getting sick and tired of deadends.”
XXV
SUSAN’S STORY
I don’t think I’ll ever forget it. The atmosphere in the room was like an electric charge. But even that seems inadequate. There are no words that come close to describing it.
I think I might have cried. At least, I felt the tears start. Luckily, I was standing with my back directly to the main spy-video, out of range of the fixed cameras. Having inside knowledge of the complex had its advantages.
We all knew the danger of showing emotion in that room. Every movement, every sound had to have a purpose. We couldn’t afford any stray expressions or loose words which might reveal the true nature of our relationship with the Babies. Erik and I had been at it for months, but I was worried about some of the kids. Geniuses they might be, but they were still kids, and Katie, Gretel and Gordon in particular showed their emotions readily; Chris not quite as much.
Mikki and Greg were no problem, and Lesley was a pretty cool customer. Too cold at times – but I loved her in spite of it. I think it was a defence she developed early. She grew up in a particularly rough neighbourhood, where school was just a place you went as part of your good-behaviour bond. You got tough quickly, or life was hell.
Anyway, I was so busy watching them, waiting for the emotional giveaway, that at first I didn’t notice what the Babies were doing.
For a while they just stared, in their usual manner – for Larsen’s benefit, of course. But on the mental plane, the emotion was deafening.
I guess, if I’d thought about it, it was obvious. These kids had never met each other, but they knew each other’s minds better than any group of people in the history of the world – with none of the pretence, none of the social power-games we all play. This wasn’t a meeting of strangers, or even friends: it was a reunion of family. It was East and West Berlin, after the Wall came down.
And the act was perfect. Not a sound, not an expression out of place. The wave of emotion which was washing over me was soundless, invisible, completely undetectable to an outsider. I thought of Larsen watching through the mirror at my back. How frustrated he must be, waiting for a reaction. If only he knew.
It was then that I realised what the Babies were doing.
Simultaneously, each of them had leaned over and begun to write. And draw. In a matter of seconds, they were finished. And Larsen had another mystery to ponder.
WELCOME! was the word on each sheet, with a picture underneath. A detailed and quite sophisticated picture of what appeared to be a birthday cake.
It was then that Greg smiled. But he never told me why. When I asked him later, he just said it was a private joke.
The kids spent an hour or so in the room, going through the motions. Looking at everything, trying to talk with the Babies, who, of course, responded not a bit. And all the while, we were having a great time, matching the mental closeness for the first time with a physical presence. All together.
I think I said, it’s one experience I’ll never forget. But it set me thinking. Of what Myriam had said that afternoon in Ricky’s room …
We would rather be dead.
For the first time, I really understood. Though I had explained it to Erik, at the time it had been an intellectual understanding. I hadn’t comprehended exactly what it meant. What a breaking of the Sharing would represent.
Being there, feeling the power of the emotion in that room – the love, I knew why. Why they could never be separated. Why we had to find a solution. If we couldn’t, the alternative for the Babies was unthinkable. A living death. A nightmare existence. A loneliness beyond bearing.
We would rather be dead …
The words echoed in my mind. And suddenly, I knew what had to be done. If there was no other way, if they could no longer be protected, another, more permanent solution would have to be found.
XXVI
Ultimatum
N
ovember 1, 1990
Brady was a short man, and his character bore the scars of a long climb up the corporate ladder. He didn’t pace around the office, he strutted like a fighting-cock, exuding a self-confidence that left Larsen feeling the outsider in his own domain.
“They certainly don’t look like a world-shattering discovery, John.” His tone was patronising, leaving the scientist almost powerless to refute the statement.
He tried anyway. “I don’t think you understand —”
“No, I don’t think you do. Do you have any idea how much the Company has ploughed into your little project?” The memory of the disastrous meeting with the Managing-Director still rankled, and he was determined to take out his embarrassment on this balding, weak-kneed excuse for a research scientist, whose conspicuous lack of hard results had earned William Brady the career-threatening displeasure of his superiors. “Actually, I hope you do. I’d hate to think that your book-keeping was as sloppy as your research appears to have been.”
Now, Larsen reacted. “There has been nothing sloppy about the research. We are breaking new ground … I’ll admit it has been slower than I predicted, but we are making progress. There are definite signs that they are beginning to respond to outsiders. Even to the children in the other research project. If it continues, we should be able, very soon, to unravel many of the mysteries —”
Brady exploded.
“Listen to yourself, man! ‘If’, ‘we should’ – do you think that a multinational corporation plans its strategies on maybes and ‘mysteries’? I’ve got news for you. At the end of the day, it’s only the bottom line that amounts to anything. The beancounters are the ones in control. It’s the way of the world. What’s your bottom line? Where’s the profit in your little venture?”
Suddenly, his tone softened, and he was patronising once more. Vaguely, Larsen resented the annoying pseudo-friendliness more than the man’s previous bullying tone.
“If we make the breakthrough, you won’t need to ask that question. The bean-counters will have their work cut out even calculating the bottom line.”
“There you go again with your ‘ifs’. We want outcomes, not unproductive, useless bloody promises. If you don’t have any concrete results to show us by the end of December – and I mean results – then we’re going to move our own people in here. And you can bet they won’t pussyfoot around.
“And don’t try to threaten me with the Metamide link. We’ve done our own research on that. Even if it came to court, the evidence is pretty inconclusive. Our legal advice is that we could beat it, or at least tie it up in the court-system for years – supposing the families could afford to mount a case in the first place. Money talks, or hadn’t you heard? And even if we lost, the small number of payouts involved wouldn’t make the slightest dent.
“The bottom line is, Doctor Larsen” – he stressed the title ironically – “no results, no job.”
“But it’s my project. I —”
“Correction. It was your project. We own you, John. Lock, stock and stethoscope. And don’t you forget it. Read the fine print of your agreement. You don’t get nothing for nothing, as they say. Ask any accountant.
“And don’t feel too bad. It’s not the end of the world – you’ve still got two months. But I wouldn’t plan anything major for the New Year, unless you have something for me to show my superiors by the end of December.
“No, stay there, I’ll find my own way out. I’m sure you have work to do.”
And Larsen was left staring at the door as Brady closed it be-hind him.
XXVII
ERIK’S STORY
Brady was an ugly piece of work.
And I don’t mean the fact that he was small and not too good-looking, and had a face that looked like it would crack if he ever tried to smile. That, I could handle.
No, he was just plain ugly inside.
When Ian offered to “show” him to me, I’ll admit, I didn’t really have a clue what it meant. So, of course, I said “yes”. In the end, I wished I hadn’t.
Of all the Babies, Ian and his sister, Rachael, were always the ones we had the most trouble getting close to. Not because they weren’t just as loving. Anything but! It was just that they found it so much harder coming “down” to our level. It wasn’t an ego thing – one thing none of the Babies had was an overdeveloped ego – it was simply that, having been so close to each other for so long, without any other real human contact, their abilities were more highly developed, and they found our limited “conversation” incredibly difficult. Like driving a Lamborghini in first gear all the time – with the handbrake on.
So for Ian to offer like that was something of a breakthrough – for me at least – and I said “yes” before I really considered what it would mean for him to “show” Brady to me.
In hindsight, I’d rather have had a wisdom-tooth pulled.
We’d all heard the tape of the exchange between Brady and Larsen, so I wasn’t exactly prepared to like the guy, but actually going inside his mind …
I don’t imagine any of us would like people to “listen in” on a lot of the things that pass through our minds at times, but I’m sure there wouldn’t be too many people as self-centred and basically evil as that character. God, it was like a day-trip around a sewer. The Company owned him – and his morals.
If money ever came to mean that much to me, I think I’d slit my wrists. Then again, if it did come to mean that much, I’d probably already be like him, so I wouldn’t feel guilty in the first place … if you know what I mean.
The guy was obsessed. Not just tied up in his job or worried about his future, but totally possessed by it. Ian gave me just a glimpse – maybe a minute – of what had been going through Brady’s brain while he was in Larsen’s office. The petty jealousies, the resentments. The calculations. The cold, corporate morality …
I remember reading a story once, where this terrorist was discussing how you could plant a bomb and kill innocent people who had never done anything to you personally. The secret, or so he said, was to avoid thinking of them as people. As long as they remained just objects, as long as you didn’t allow them personalities, individual existence, you could do anything you wanted to them.
Kill, torture, enslave. Anything. Hitler had proved that.
Looking into Brady’s mind, I realised that in fifty years nothing much had changed. The Cause was different; business suits had replaced black uniforms and swastika armbands, but the psychology was the same. To Brady, the Babies didn’t exist. Not as human beings. They had no rights, no feelings; only a role in the wider plan. Their only purpose was to create profit, to aid his rise to power. To serve the Corporation.
It made my blood run cold. I’d seen Jaws four times, every Nightmare on Elm Street and half the horror movies ever made, but until that day, I’d never really experienced a monster. I know Freddy Kreuger had razor-sharp knives on his fingers and a problem with his complexion, but Brady was the real monster. More so because he basically looked so normal. And because deep inside where it really counts, he could see absolutely nothing wrong with what he was doing, or what he planned to do.
hecannothelp … itheiswhatheis.
I knew what Ian was doing, but I couldn’t accept his calm … acceptance.
“Look Ian, let’s get one thing straight.” The poor kid must have felt the full force of my anger. “This isn’t some intellectual exercise. This guy wants to dissect you. To pull you all apart and see what makes you tick. And when his mates are finished, there isn’t going to be a whole lot left to put back together. Don’t you understand?”
I knew he understood. Stupid, he wasn’t. But I had to get my frustrations – my gut-fears – out somehow.
iweunderstand … hemustdowhathe … feelshemustand … iwemuststophim … ifwecan.
For a moment, there was a sort of mind-silence, as if he was trying to find the right words.
whymustyouhate … himhecannot … helpithe … is whathe … is.
/> There was nothing I could say. For the first time in my life, I felt like a Stone Age savage.
Ian was eight years old. And like some medieval martyr or a Buddhist monk, he was asking me to try to understand my enemy – his enemy – and to turn the other cheek. I couldn’t do it. I wanted to take a semi-automatic, Rambo-style, and turn it on Brady and Larsen and MacIntyre. And the whole of bloody Raecorp.
At that moment, I knew why the Babies could never do, intentionally, what Ricky had accidentally done to MacIntyre. Susan was only half-correct. Sure, they had to experience the fear, the terror, along with their victim, but that’s not what would stop them. It was much simpler than that.
They could never use Lesley’ s “perfect defence” because it would mean hurting another thinking, feeling human being – even a slime like Brady. To them, nobody was just an object. Perhaps they could stand the pain themselves, but they were totally incapable of intentionally inflicting it on anyone else. They understood. They accepted. In a way I could barely comprehend.
At eight years old, the Babies were pacifists. They would – could — hurt no one. Not even to save themselves.
Well, I was no pacifist. And I knew at that moment that even if they couldn’t, I would kill to protect them if I had to. And somehow, the realisation didn’t even shock me.
XXVIII
Ears and Eyes
November 4, 1990
DON’T SAY A WORD!
Chris held up the piece of paper, so that Greg couldn’t miss the instruction he had printed on it in huge, untidy letters. Rather unnecessarily, he placed the index finger of his free hand against his lips in a particularly unsubtle mime.
A Cage of Butterflies Page 12