Mad Skills

by Greatshell, Walter

  It was an elevator—a very fast elevator. The angle of descent was very steep, but it was not vertical. Bat Cave, Maddy thought. Fluorescent lights were strung along the walls at regular intervals, creating a mesmerizing strobe effect.

  It was a long ride. The elevator was more of a railcar—a funicular, Maddy recalled. Are we having fun yet? Her ears popped. Trying to clear them with her limited movement was frustrating. Giving up, she focused her attention on the shoddy workmanship of the tunnel. Though obviously new, it was already full of cracks and seepage and rust stains. It reeked of mildew. The contractor who had built the thing probably charged a fortune, too. At a certain point they slowed down, passing a series of warning signs reading, DO NOT PROCEED IF LIGHTS ARE RED. The lights were green. The air became warm and tinged with sulfur. There was a roar of ventilation equipment.

  After a while, the elevator hit bottom, and they drove the rest of the way, a long straight shot of tunnel, until at last they emerged in a much larger space, a man-made cavern held up with massive wooden beams and brick archways. Huge, corroded remnants of ancient factory equipment jutted from the floor like wrecked ships. The place looked old, a condemned relic of the Industrial Age … yet Maddy had seen it all before.

  It was the Braintree of her earliest dreams.

  The cart carried her up a ramp to a loading dock, where vacant-faced orderlies waited to roll her wheeled stretcher inside a very large and very dirty freight elevator. With a crash of gates and gears, it rose to ground level. The doors opened on a clean white corridor, all new plasterboard and a new drop ceiling. After the basement, the lights were so bright they hurt her eyes. Maddy found she could blink, but her slack eyelids wouldn’t stay completely shut. Every few minutes Dr. Plummer put drops in them. They passed a sunlit window, and Maddy had a blurred glimpse of rooftops and mountains. Those, too, were familiar, but of much more recent memory.

  I’m in Harmony, she thought. Carbontown.

  The mine. They had brought her to the big abandoned mine at the center of downtown Harmony—the Museum of Industry and Culture. Of course, stupid! Why hadn’t she thought of it sooner? It was so obvious! They weren’t doing anything up there on the mountain. How could they? Up there they were in the public eye, a government-funded operation. That was just a front. Braintree Institute was a sham; it was all for show—a few high-profile surgeries now and again, maybe a little token research, just for display purposes, so the funding could be justified. So there would be no questions about where the money really went.

  Meanwhile, the actual work was going on here.

  They wheeled her into a yellow-and-black-tiled room with a padded door and a tiny window of reinforced glass. A mirrored bubble hung from the ceiling, concealing a camera. From the reflection in the dome, Maddy could see that there was someone already in the room, but she couldn’t turn her head to see who it was. Dr. Plummer left without a word, leaving her alone with the stranger.

  “Hi, Maddy,” he said. “It’s me.”

  It was Ben.

  THIRTY-THREE

  REUNION

  HIS head was clean-shaven, but it was definitely Ben. If she could have, she would have jumped up and hugged him. She would have screamed, Oh my God, I’m so glad to see you! But all she could do was blink.

  “I’m sorry,” Ben said. He came near, leaning over her. “I know this is rough, but they thought it would help if I was the first one to talk to you. Can you understand me?”

  She blinked frantically.

  “Good, I see you, that’s good. Are you okay? Blink once for yes and twice for no.”

  She blinked once.

  “Thank God.” He sighed. “I’m fine, too, I guess—they patched me up and got me right back on my feet. No rest for the wicked, huh?”

  He looked very uncomfortable, as though he would have preferred to be anywhere but there. Maddy could tell he was ashamed, struggling to say something he didn’t want to say, and she wished she could yell, Just spit it out!

  “Look,” he said finally, “I hate to be the one to tell you this, but it’s probably something you already know, so maybe I’m just stating the obvious. Y’know?”

  She had no idea what he was talking about. If you’re going to say something, say it!

  Ben said, “See, the thing is, you never escaped. Any more than I did. We both did exactly what we were supposed to do, what they wanted us to do, from day one. We never had any choice—only the illusion of choice. That’s how it works, Maddy. The implant, I mean. The computer compels us to do whatever the doctors program it to, and our organic brains come up with creative solutions to accomplish it. Rationalize it. It’s human nature.

  “Everything that’s happened to us has been by design. Everything. It was all a field test, a trial run, and from what they tell me, you performed like a champ. Look how you even voluntarily returned, against all common sense! Part of me was hoping you wouldn’t, but here you are, right on schedule.

  “You’re a celebrity, did you know that? In the news, they’re calling you Maddy Hearst because you’ve supposedly been kidnapped and brainwashed by this gang of crazy lesbo-terrorists. They say you’re riding around leaving a trail of dead bodies everywhere you go—is that true?”

  Maddy blinked.

  “Jesus. Sounds like you had a hell of a trip. I guess it’s a good thing you’re zonked out right now, or I might be another statistic, huh?”

  She blinked twice.

  “No? That’s good, I’m glad. I hope we’re still friends, Mad. I want to be. I didn’t choose any of this either, you know? It’s just the way it is. We can’t change it.”

  She blinked twice, a tear gliding down her temple.

  “You’re an amazing girl. And you’ll see it’s not so bad living here. I swear to God, in some ways it’s better than being on the outside. In here we’re like one big family. Everybody’s decent to each other; there’s no crime, none of that fucking depression, just this real sense of community , everyone working together for the same goal. You always know where you belong. There’s no confusion. Life’s a lot simpler. It’s kind of old-fashioned that way, more the way people used to live, I guess, and eventually it’s gonna spread across the whole country, so we won’t even have to keep it a secret anymore. That’s what I’m looking forward to.”

  Maddy squeezed her eyes shut as hard as she could. It took all her concentration, but there was still a thread of light; she couldn’t escape completely.

  Ben said, “Okay, well, I’m gonna let you go then. You’re probably pretty tired. We’ll talk again later, okay?”

  She kept her eyes scrunched partly shut. The door opened, and someone else came in. There was a feeling of something cool pressing against her head, a smooth metal object, and just like that her mind went blank.

  MADDY woke up back in the motel. It was as if she had never left.

  Everything was the same: the bare white room, the bed, the window overlooking the rear, the little kitchenette and bathroom, the honking big radiator. All the stuff she had bought was still there, too, still shelved and hung in the closet exactly as she had left it. There were two differences, however: The broken medicine cabinet had been replaced, and her external modem was gone. No more need for pretence, apparently—she was theirs.

  Maddy sat up and checked her PDA for messages. Someone had made her an appointment with Able Staffing for 11 a.m. She put the device aside and closed her eyes for a while, chanting ommmmm to clear her head. It was a meditation exercise she had once been pretty good at though she hadn’t tried it since before the accident. She was glad to find it still worked.

  In the months following her parents’ breakup, she and her mother had started going to TM classes together—the memory caused an intense, fleeting pang of nostalgia. Those few months were the closest she and her mom had ever come to relating to each other as adults. No condescending mother/child bullcrap. She had seen too much for that, chafing against the role of Mommy’s Little Angel.

  In the medit
ation studio, they were on an equal footing, both novices, except that Maddy took to it quicker, went deeper than Beth Grant could or dared to, and in her growing self-awareness began to see through all the assumptions that had ruled her existence … and her family’s. She began asking her mother questions, questions that made Beth increasingly uncomfortable, and it was perhaps lucky for their relationship that at this awkward juncture, Sam and Ben Blevin came into their lives. That put an end to Transcendental Meditation.

  Her mom claimed she stopped out of dissatisfaction with the cultish aspects of the practice, but Maddy knew it was because she wanted to spend time with her new boyfriend, Sam. And Sam’s son Ben was so cute that Maddy didn’t object … much. At the time, she only felt a vague regret. Maddy had no way of understanding then that she and her mother had just squandered their last chance of ever being more than strangers. Which was what they were, of course. Complete strangers. Maddy had to keep reminding herself, because the truth was so slippery. It kept sliding right out of her head like a live eel from a basket, and what was the good of catching it? It only made things worse.

  There was a knock on the door.

  “Who is it?” she asked.

  A girl’s voice said, “Housekeeping.”

  “Oh. Jeez. Hold on a sec.”

  Maddy got up and threw on some clothes, one of the new dresses she had bought. Then she opened the door. Expecting to find a maid, she was startled to find a beautiful and smartly dressed young woman grinning at her.

  “Maddy!” the woman cried, seizing her in a full-body hug.

  “Whoa,” Maddy said, looking over the weeping girl’s shoulder for sign of the towel cart. “I think there may be a mix-up …”

  “Maddy, it’s me!” The girl pulled back to arm’s length, laughing and crying. “It’s Lakisha!”

  Lakisha? For an instant, Maddy drew a total blank, her mind unable to process this most unusual and yet familiar of names, especially in combination with this stranger’s beaming, intelligent face. The pieces didn’t match. “What Lakisha?”

  “Oh shit. I know I look way different. Wait.” She took her glasses off. “Special Needs?”

  At the sound of those words, Maddy felt the floor shift. Her face went slack, mouth and eyes gaping as she realized this elegant woman and the frantic, damaged creature she had recently known by the name Lakisha were somehow the very same person.

  “Oh no … no way …”

  Impossible. Lakisha had been a mentally disabled child, and this was a whole woman: Lakisha 2.0. All her features were the same—the pug nose, the full lips, those gold-brown eyes, as well as the self-inflicted marks and scars, now softened with makeup. But those eyes, that face, were animated by a bright light that focused on Maddy like a laser beam. Lakisha’s whole posture was different; she seemed taller, tighter, slicker. Maddy suddenly realized she did know this person—not from life, but from dreams. In a way, this was the original Lakisha, the gorgeous, funny one from her recovered memories.

  Maddy had to sit down. She wept; they wept together. Finally, she asked, “How?”

  They answered in tandem: “Braintree.”

  “Shit,” Maddy said.

  “I know. It’s crazy.”

  “Where are you living?”

  “Right here in the motel. Just down the hall.”

  “What! Since when?”

  “Since last week. I’ve been so nervous since they told me you were coming. I didn’t want to screw it up.”

  “What did they tell you?”

  “That you’ve been having a hard time, but you’re doing an amazing job, and it’s very important that I help you feel welcome and loved. They didn’t exactly have to twist my arm. I told them I’d do anything if it would help my peep Maddy.”

  “What is my job?”

  “Don’t you know? Wow. I don’t know if I’m supposed to say this, but you’re a key part of the big experiment—the next phase in medicine. Well, we all are, but you have some special, important function. I don’t know exactly what it is, but they’re basically trying to save the world, one person at a time. It’s such a miracle, Maddy, oh my God.”

  “And you believe them?”

  “Yes. Why wouldn’t I? The proof is right here.” She indicated her head, careful not to muss her perfect, glossy hairpiece.

  “Did they also tell you we’re prisoners here?”

  Lakisha’s face became sad. “Oh, honey. I know you’ve been having some trouble adjusting. It’s why Dr. Plummer asked me to talk to you.” She took Maddy’s hand in hers. “This is what it’s all about, Mad. People like us having a second chance at life. Nobody asked my opinion; they just did it—and thank God they did! I feel bad about lying, but I understand the necessity. They’re experimenting on people who are not legally competent. Some folks might think it’s playing God, get all up in arms, but I would hope you of all people can understand. I’m so glad to see you, Maddy. I’ll do anything I can to help you get through this. We’ll do it together.”

  “You know, they already tried this on me with Ben.”

  “Who?”

  “Nobody. So, can I ask you something?”

  “Of course! Anything!”

  “What was going on back in Special Needs?”

  Lakisha went stiff. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, I remember some of it being nice, and some of it being … kind of gross. Was something going on in that class with Principal Batrachian?”

  “You don’t remember?”

  “Not really.”

  Lakisha looked shocked, tears flowing anew. “But Maddy. Oh my God.”

  “What?”

  She knelt at Maddy’s feet. “You saved us. From that man. Don’t you know that? No one outside had any idea what was happening, and when Jonas tried to tell people, they had him put on heavy meds. Turned him into a zombie. But then you came back from your operation like some kind of knight in shining armor! You saved all of us!”

  “So you’re saying it was good I stuck him with a fork?”

  Lakisha sobbed in her lap, “Yes! My God, yes!”

  “Okay.” Maddy nodded thoughtfully, chewing her lip. “Listen, I gotta be at a job appointment in a few minutes. You want to come with me and have lunch after?”

  “Hell to the yes.”

  LAKISHA accompanied her to the employment agency, then waited in a coffee shop. The interview went quickly. Maddy wasn’t the only person in line with a recent surgical scar, but they gave her special treatment, taking her into a cubicle and introducing her to one of the job counselors, Mr. Strode. She instantly recognized him as the man whose campaign posters she had liked. Apparently, he was just as likeable in person.

  “Say! And you must be Madeline Grant!” he said jovially, giving her a seat. There was a glass bowl of M&M’s on his desk; he offered her some. “So glad you could finally make it!”

  Maddy said nothing, waiting.

  “And what can we do for you today, Maddy? Have you given any thought to what kind of work you might be interested in?”

  She slowly shook her head.

  “Well, let’s just see what we’ve got …”

  Mr. Strode opened the lid of a plastic file box and began flipping through a stack of index cards.

  Strode … Strode—why was that name so familiar to her? Not from the campaign posters but from something earlier in her memory, a tiny fragment of the past that was suddenly rattling around in her skull like a loose nut. Strode—Manfred Strode. Manfred, yes, that was it.

  The Nightly News: Manfred Strode, White Supremacist, standing in shackles as the judge read the verdict: Guilty. Guilty of multiple counts of tax evasion, weapons possession, conspiracy to overthrow the government, and the murder of two federal agents.

  Manfred Strode had been sentenced to death … and executed!

  Holy crap, Maddy thought. Strode was dead! Dead and rehabilitated. Damned to Hell and reincarnated as a social worker.

  “How ’bout cake decorating?” he said.
“We’ve got a number of decorating jobs, from pastry finishers to window dressers to interior design, all entry-level but with full health coverage and excellent chance for advancement.”

  “Cake decorating?” Maddy said, jarred from her daze. “Are you kidding?”

  “Not at all. Or you could go into the fast-growing field of health care. All kinds of paid internships available, from nursing assistants to neurosurgeons. Accelerated training program for qualified candidates—that’s you. You could be working your way toward a college degree. Earn your PhD in as little as three months!”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “All right. Ooh, here’s something: How ’bout the security business? Guards, bodyguards, investigators, force protection? No? From what I understand, you have quite a talent for cloak-and-dagger stuff; this would put you in league with the big boys.”

  “You’re seriously asking me if I want to be a hired thug? A mercenary?”

  “No! An asset. A chance to serve your country. These are all government contract positions, designated GS-12 or above. Free housing, travel, paid vacations, matching retirement fund. You’re eager to travel, right? Well, here’s your chance.”

  “Forget it.”

  “Retail sales?”

  “No.”

  “Well, then I don’t have much to offer except the labor pool.”

  “Labor pool?”

  “It’s the on-call labor force—the unskilled workers. All the folks who do whatever needs to be done around town: general construction, painting, digging ditches, and so on. Not something I’d really recommend to someone like yourself.”

  “Why not? Because I’m a girl?”

  “No. Well, yes … but it’s also a waste of your potential.”

  “Good. Sign me up.”

  “Really?”

  “Definitely.”

  “I’m talking manual labor. Outdoors, in all kinds of weather.”

  “I understand.”

  “Okay … if you’re sure …”

  “I’m sure.”

  “Well, remember, you can always change your mind. But I can’t guarantee these other jobs will still be available.”