But something had, as things do, gone wrong, and when her mind had begun to doubt that it was really doing what it thought it was doing, the program had not known what to do, and had tried to convince the mind that it was in a realistic scenario by showing it something realistic, in this case a dirty old town.
This had worked to some extent, but had not taken into account the fact that, while the mind was coming to terms with the new information (or “lies”), the body was strapped into a very large, very heavy harness designed to ensure that it performed at the extreme limits of its abilities. This harness was naturally also equipped with fail-safes and escape mechanisms so its failure would not cause its occupant to be, for example, crushed or mutilated or maimed. But these fail-safes had failed to activate. As a consequence, the body in the harness had been subjected to impossible stresses and, essentially, broken.
“Like a twig?” she said.
“Like a bundle of twigs,” said one of the scientists, before apologising.
* * *
She lay there, because there was nothing else she could do, wondering when she would find out why they were really smiling.
* * *
Some days later, a man in a suit came to see her. He smelt of pipe tobacco, which she found interesting as both pipes and tobacco were illegal, and he was carrying a teddy bear and a blue cardboard folder.
“This is for you,” he said. “Someone to talk to.”
He put the teddy bear on the cabinet by her bed, then looked down at the folder.
“I know,” he said. “Here we are, put a man on the moon, computers in every front room, and here I am with a cardboard folder.”
“I didn’t know we put a man on the moon,” she said.
“Figure of speech,” the man said casually. “I brought this because – well, it seemed more personal than a tablet.”
She had no idea what he was talking about. Then again, she had had no visitors apart from the scientists for a long time. So she said:
“What’s in it?”
“I’ll show you,” the man said, and pulled out what looked like sheets of paper but were actually photographs. She had never seen photographs printed out like this, half shiny, half glossy, and decided they must be very expensive.
“Now this is you,” said the man, and held up to her eyes a picture showing some X-ray images. The images showed what must once have been limbs, but were now just flat, floppy collections of bone fragments.
“Nasty,” he said. “But what’s done is done. Now this is what you could be.” He corrected himself. “What you will be.”
The next photograph was of a naked woman. The face of the woman was hers, but the body wasn’t.
“Bit of artistic licence,” said the man. “But I know you ladies don’t mind flattery.”
He let her study the photograph.
“You’re an athlete,” he said. “Fit, healthy, a machine. Well, you were. And you can be again. Would you like that?”
She would have shrugged if she could.
“Silly question, I know,” said the man. “I’ll take it as read that your answer is yes. Who doesn’t want a second chance?”
He gathered up the photographs before she could reply.
“Thing is, it’s not really up to you,” he said. “Wasting your time pissing about on skis? This is a good thing. Now we can use you.”
He walked out, leaving her and the teddy bear to stare at one another.
* * *
The operations were painless, which surprised her. Perhaps there just wasn’t enough left of her to actually hurt.
* * *
When she awoke again, she found that she was lying, not in a bed, but in a bath of gel. The gel was red, which was somewhat disconcerting, as it made her feel like she was in a bag of blood. The rest of the room was black, which didn’t help, but next to her on a chair was the teddy bear. She laughed at this. They’d done so much to her, but they thought that giving her a stuffed toy would make it better. Then she was filled with an overwhelming urge to pick up the bear and hold it. She sat up without thinking. Red gel slid off her body as she reached out for the bear. She picked it up from the chair and held it in her arms.
It took her a moment to notice that she had arms.
* * *
She was still sitting up and holding the bear when the scientists came back in. This time they weren’t smiling.
“She’s supposed to be lying down,” one said.
“She’s supposed to be unconscious,” said another.
“No way is that bear sterile,” said a third.
She looked at them all. It clearly wasn’t a look that they liked.
“I want ice cream,” she said, surprising herself.
* * *
For the next few days she stayed in the red gel, eating ice cream. From time to time a scientist or two would come in, hover at the back of the room, and make notes on a tablet. She would tire easily, and lie back in the lukewarm embrace of the gel, having first placed the teddy on its chair.
* * *
They gave her tests to do. Puzzles with pegs and holes, metal rings to slip over other metal rings, that sort of thing. After a while she noticed that they weren’t concerned with her mental state or her intelligence, but only seemed interested in whether she could manipulate physical objects. If she dropped something, or broke it, they were full of encouragement, but if she found something too difficult, they didn’t seem to care. It was as if they were training her not to learn, but to do tricks.
The tricks grew more involved. She was asked to undo knots and untangle wires. She was encouraged to fold paper into artistic shapes, and even to see if she could use a needle and thread. Her manual dexterity was excellent, but every time she performed a task, she felt she was holding something back.
In the second month, they gave her some light physical exercise, small weights for lifting and so on. Again, she found that once she had mastered this sort of activity, she was aware that she was not operating at her full capacity. She wondered what that capacity was.
In the third month, they let her sit up, in a chair. Two large men lifted her up and she found that, despite her long inactivity, she could stand and even walk a little. It was tiring, though, and she was glad to lie down again.
* * *
The tests continued. Now they were clearly strength-related. She bent things, punched things and on occasion was asked to tear a large directory in half.
She looked at the scientists.
“You do it,” she said, and closed her eyes.
* * *
After a while, she was placed in a bed again. A few days after that, they gave her a wheelchair. Then, after she crushed the wheel rims trying to get around in it, they gave her another, stronger wheelchair. Then steel crutches and, shortly after, a walking stick.
And finally, after they were certain that she could walk normally, they strapped her to her bed.
* * *
She woke up to discover that once more she could not move, except this time she was immobilised by metallic bands crossing her body.
“Why have I been tied down?” she asked one of the scientists, an annoying man with glasses and straggly hair that she longed to tie back. The man said nothing, just continued to stand a few metres away and make notes on her tablet.
When the man had left, she flexed her limbs and was about to test her bonds when she saw the camera above her bed. She went to sleep instead. In the night she woke again, flexed her arms and legs, and was not surprised to feel the bonds protest. The next day she made a mental inventory of where everything was in the room that she might need. She knew that she would have to be quick.
* * *
She was quick.
* * *
Breakfast was a paste sucked from a tube. The moment she was left alone in the room, she sat up and freed first her arms and then her legs. As she got out of bed, alarms began to screech and ring. She ignored them, reaching for a thin medical gown and sli
ppers she knew were stored in her bedside cabinet. She threw her water jug at the camera, smashing its eye, and opened the door of her room.
She was about to step out into the corridor when she remembered the bear. She went back into the room, retrieved it, and headed off down the corridor.
Her knowledge of the building was scant, but her memory was excellent. She located the staff lockers three doors down, broke in, and put on someone else’s clothes. Striding now, she made her way towards a large glass sliding door. It had been locked shut. Behind the door, some of the scientists stood. They looked more nervous than usual.
She began to kick the sliding door, and on the third kick the glass collapsed entirely. Stepping through, she grabbed the man with the straggly hair.
“Get me out of here or I’ll break your neck,” she told him. The man nodded.
“Follow me,” he said.
* * *
They walked quickly towards an elevator, which took them from a level called B13 to the ground floor. When the doors opened, the man had time to shout, “Help me, for fuck’s sake,” before the soldiers waiting outside opened fire. As she stepped over the man’s body, she noticed that bullets just bounced off her arms, which was handy. She rendered the soldiers harmless, and ran past a crowd of orderlies and staff towards the main door of the building.
She pulled the door open – strictly speaking, she pulled it off – and went outside. Instantly she was cold. The air was full of snow and there was ice on the ground. She was in the mountains.
She stepped into the road. A truck came towards her. Impossibly, it was the truck from her dream, the simulation. She just had time to wonder how this could be when the truck hit her for the second time.
* * *
When she woke up, she had been placed inside some sort of casing that resembled a mummy’s sarcophagus. Even her head was unable to move.
She heard voices now.
“The simulation was entirely predictable,” said one voice. She couldn’t see who was speaking but she could smell tobacco. “I knew this whole thing was a waste of time.”
“We can run more tests,” said a second voice.
“No point,” Denning said. “Strip this one for parts and put the rest in a furnace.”
* * *
They moved her like furniture, first by hand and then, when her weight became apparent, on a gurney. After a journey whose only landmarks were the strip lights above her head, she was left in a cold loading bay with some machine parts. Whoever was moving her had clearly decided to take a break before the next stage of her terminal journey.
She flexed her toes. She moved her hands. She balled her fists. She kicked a little, and something cracked. She punched downwards, and the sarcophagus split. Rolling her shoulders, kicking and thrusting, she smashed the casing around her. She sat up, hunching debris off her body.
There was still nobody around. Perhaps this is another simulation, she thought. She opened a door into a room full of boots and coats and shoes – and skis. She found some clothes that fit her, dressed, and took a helmet and skis.
Outside, she pulled goggles over her eyes. In front of her, a few yards from the road, was a snow-laden mountainside.
If this is a simulation, she thought, at least this time I’m going to enjoy it.
The snow was smooth beneath her skis, and she moved in silence through the cold night. Gaining speed, she easily avoided the trees dotting the mountainside and, even though she had no idea where she was or where she was going, she knew no pursuer had a chance of catching up. So long as she could keep moving, she was unstoppable.
The mountain rose with her and descended with her. The wind seemed to be always at her back as she sped across the snow. She could hear them now, in their clumsy vehicles, trying to catch her. Sometimes a bullet whined past her, or nicked the snow ahead of her. It didn’t matter: she was faster and stronger than anything.
As she approached the edge of the mountain, she saw the one thing that might have killed her.
* * *
It hurtled through the night, oblivious of the mountain above it. It screamed through the darkness, huge and relentless. The train was about to go into a tunnel and disappear into the mountain.
* * *
She didn’t know if she could do it, but at the same time she was certain that she could. She crouched down, gained more momentum and aimed her body at the train. Below her, she could see a gap between carriages. The whole thing was, in theory, impossible, like firing an arrow through a keyhole from the back of a motorbike. But she was going to do it.
She raced over a cliff edge, which threw her up into the air. Her poles fell away, freeing her hands, and she crashed into the dark gap. Her hands, flailing, found something to hold. She was nearly shaken free by the sheer force and speed of the train, but she managed to hold on.
She just had time to see her pursuers try and stop at the edge, and fail, and fall, before the train hurtled into the tunnel.
* * *
First there is a mountain. Then there is no mountain.
* * *
She wrenched open the connecting door between the carriages. Inside it was dark, and smelt bad. Something in her clothes seemed to be nudging her. She reached into her jerkin. It was the bear.
“Hello, Teddy,” she said. She heard a sound, and looked up.
They thundered towards her, teeth and claws and impossible eyes.
* * *
Then there is a mountain.
* * *
When she woke up, they were dead. Teddy was covered in blood, and his head was gone. She was incredibly tired and she just wanted to rest, and to be on her own, with nobody looking at her, or testing her, or trying to kill her.
Poppy wandered the train for a while, found some things of interest and other things that were just unpleasant. She suddenly felt very tired indeed, so she went into a bathroom, locked the door behind her and, with Teddy tucked into her jacket again, fell fast asleep.
THREE
Garland woke first. She tapped Banks gently on the arm.
“What is it?” he said.
“Nothing,” she replied. “I just think we’ve slept enough for now.”
Banks was about to reply when he let out a belch so deep and long it distorted his face.
“Goodness,” said Garland.
“Excuse me,” Banks said. He looked at Poppy. “You can wake her,” he said.
“Coward,” said Garland, and regretted it at once.
“It’s OK,” Banks said. He leant over towards Poppy and gently stroked her arm.
“I don’t think that’s going to do it,” Garland said.
Banks tapped Poppy on the shoulder.
“Are you going to tell her this is her stop?” said Garland. “Here, let me.”
She clapped her hands in the air. Poppy’s eyes opened instantly.
“Where am I?” she said, then, “Oh, yes. Hello, everyone.”
“Did you sleep?” said Garland.
“I slept,” said Poppy. “But not enough.”
She got up.
“I think we all need a nice rest,” she announced.
Banks belched again. “Sorry,” he added.
“I’m a lady, so I didn’t hear that,” said Poppy. “It’s this way.”
“What is?” asked Garland.
Poppy gave her the kind of look she might reserve for a simpleton.
“The nice place, of course.”
* * *
“I am starting to wonder just how long this train is,” Garland said as they entered their fourth carriage (two stripped out, one with seats and tables intact, one with nothing in it but a single metal table studded with deep, low dents).
“Not far now,” said Poppy.
“I’m more worried that it might loop round and eat itself,” said Banks.
“Seems unlikely,” said Garland. “Where would the engine be?”
“Maybe there is no engine,” said Banks.
“There
’s got to be an engine.”
“Maybe not. Maybe the whole thing is a simulation – ow!”
Poppy released her grip on Banks’s arm.
“Just don’t say that, please,” she said.
“Sorry,” said Banks. Poppy walked on. Banks raised an eyebrow at Garland, who shrugged.
* * *
The fifth carriage was clearly the one. Poppy stopped outside with a broad grin on her lips. She took Teddy out and kissed him.
“Here it is,” she said. “The nice place.”
“Are you sure?” said Garland. “This train has been notably short of nice places so far.”
“If you don’t ask, you don’t get,” said Poppy gnomically. She pulled open the door like it was made of rice paper, and went in.
* * *
The fifth carriage was not at all like the other carriages. Garland had never seen anything like it before.
For a start, it was divided into different compartments.
For a start, there was a dark blue carpet running down the middle.
For a start, each compartment had windows on the inside.
* * *
All the windows were decorated with curtains that matched the carpets, and all the curtains were closed. There were of course doors to each compartment, and Poppy opened one now.
“Come in,” she said. “For a minute, anyway.”
Garland and Banks followed her into the compartment.
“What the fuck,” said Garland.
* * *
The compartment was a bedroom. More of a boudoir, thought Garland. The walls were decorated with embossed purple wallpaper, all stripes and little ribbons. There was a small dressing table in the corner, with an ornate mirror and a round stool to sit on. Hairbrushes and compacts festooned the table. The rest of the compartment was taken up by the bed. This was covered with a mauve bedspread that frothed out in all directions like a purple silk ocean. By the headboard was a collection of what Garland could only think of as too many cushions. These too were various shades of purple.
* * *
And that was pretty much it. On the wall were some round pictures of goggle-eyed people in old-fashioned clothes (she noticed Banks didn’t like to look at those) and in the corner was a tall, thin closet made from the same kind of painted wood as the dressing table. Garland opened the doors but there was nothing inside.
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