by Tara Basi
“Do you remember what I told you about your condition, the coma?”
The Tramp stared at Peter as though he were speaking a foreign language. Mary was still stroking his forehead and holding his hand. He turned towards her. “What’s happening? I feel strange. Did I black out?”
Mary answered, surprising Peter, “Everything is fine. We gave you a sedative to help you relax. There’s nothing to worry about. Nothing at all. Would you like to talk to the doctor now? He’s here to help you. Or maybe you’d like to be on your own for a bit?”
Bunny was making Peter nervous, even though he understood exactly what it was doing. Offering the Tramp choices was very risky. He might try and take control of the situation, make his own decisions, challenge the setting, demand things the simulation couldn’t deliver.
“I remember. It was only seconds ago to me. It’s hard to believe.”
Peter smiled. They were back on track. He decided to push things along while the Tramp was lucid. “Medically, you’re in excellent health, and we’ll have you in a strong new body very soon. Unfortunately, outside, in the world, things are less … stable. Something I’m sure you’ll want to help with if you can.”
The Tramp’s eyes started darting around as though searching for clues about the state of the outside world. “What are you talking about? What’s happened? What about my Net connection?”
“The Church has changed radically. There has been a terrible war, and the Church is threatening to start another one. The Pilgrims will listen to you. We can have peace.”
“The Catholics? What are you talking about? What war? I want … a drink. You’re not making any sense. Who’s in charge here?”
Peter was torn. Maybe he should stop now. It wouldn’t matter how long Peter paused the simulation. As far as the Tramp was concerned, his last words were all he’d remember, and he’d still be waiting for an answer even if Peter turned him off for hours. He couldn’t rewind and replay a conversation, only start all over again, and there was no guarantee they’d arrive at the same point, even if Peter and Bunny repeated every action and said exactly the same things.
“Please don’t be alarmed. I’ll explain everything. We’re just so grateful to have you back. Your return has given everyone such hope. I’m referring to your Church: the Church of the Orb.”
“What? Are you crazy? I don’t have a Church. I hate churches. How can that money-making tourist trap have a Church? Are you with Orb Industries? Are you trying to trick me? Is this some kind of joke? You connect me now, damn you!”
As he spoke, he became more and more agitated, shouting and struggling to free his hands from Peter and Mary. Without needing to be asked, Mary dialled the Tramp’s alertness down. Gradually, his body calmed, his struggles weakened to be replaced by the occasional twitch, though he carried on resisting with his eyes. The bright blue pupils flashed with fury and terror before subsiding into a constant, room-scanning bewilderment.
Peter was unbalanced. He hated the Tramp. It was the Tramp who’d started it all: the crazy Pilgrimists, a ruthless Church and, worst of all, the madness of the Orb as a god. Now God’s chosen mouthpiece was denying it all. He wasn’t lying; it would show in the scans. Was he already crazy? Wracked by guilt? How? He couldn’t know anything about what had happened after year nineteen, the God War, the rise of the Church.
The Suit wanted the Tramp to denounce the Church and confirm the Orb’s divinity. The Tramp seemed inclined to do one but not the other. Peter looked across to Mary. She had turned away and was studying the bank of monitors. When she turned back, she shook her head. The Tramp wasn’t going to last much longer. He might as well find out as much as he could. It might be useful in designing the next scenario.
“I’m sorry, Tramp. Could you help me understand? In year fifteen, you completed the Administration and the Church was formed?”
“No, not a Church. Don’t you listen? Organised religion always ends up prioritising its own salvation over everything else.”
“Please be calm. I’m trying to understand. What was it then?”
“Are you stupid? Have you read the Administration? It’s a trust, to manage the secular interests of the Pilgrims, balance the power of Orb Industries, only to be staffed by atheists. How can it be a Church? Enough of this rubbish. What happened to me? I want a Net link.”
He really believed it wasn’t a Church. Maybe it wasn’t back then. A lot of data had been lost during the God War. How could something so fundamental not be true? Peter had to keep pressing, find out as much as he could about the Tramp before the simulation failed.
“It was Mossad; they tried to kill you.”
“Kill me? Why? What are you talking about? I want to get out of here.” The Tramp weakly twitched and tried to pull his hands away.
Peter knew the simulation wouldn’t last much longer. “The Pilgrimists were sweeping across the Middle East; half of Israel had been converted.”
“Would you blame the Jews for Hitler, Luther for the Pope? What’s a bunch of mad Orb fanatics got to do with me? This is a nightmare. I want to wake up.”
“Isn’t the Orb God?”
The Tramp wailed. Tears ran down his cheeks as he flailed helplessly on the bed. “You’re Pilgrimists! Crazy! You won’t make me believe. Never! It’s no god. Let me go. Let me …” The Tramp froze. He was suspended in mid-struggle, wild eyes bursting out of his head, back arched off the bed, one foot kicking out. The poor man had become a lifeless sculpture.
Peter was back in the lab. It was over. He sighed and shook his head. How was this ever going to work?
“Peter.”
He looked over and recoiled in surprise. The Suit was there. With Quattro? It had to be her: a female version of Bunny. It was the body he’d seen Mathew lift out of the crate in his cellar. She was sandwiched between two armoured troopers and wearing a cobweb of little lights. It was a kill-vest, the same as Bunny was wearing, a technology that rendered them equally powerless.
“Significant progress, Peter. Well done. We just need to focus on his attitude to the Church and not the Orb,” the Suit said.
Peter wasn’t listening. “Kiki, Quattro, are you all right?”
Quattro didn’t answer immediately. To Peter, she seemed to be studying him as if he were a mere thing.
“You know what you’ve done. Murderer! You killed Melisa and Kiki. Maybe you didn’t do it yourself, but it’s all your fault. Then” – Quattro looked at her bright metal hand – “you did this to us, again and again, when you knew we wouldn’t survive.”
Quattro’s cold accusation, in an emotionless machine voice, burnt him like fire. “Why would you say such terrible things?” Peter was frightened. “I haven’t killed anybody.”
It was impossible to read any emotion in Quattro’s mirrored face. All he saw was his own desperate expression staring back.
When she spoke again, her voice was calm, surgical and precise. “They’re all in here with me. K1’s nearly gone. Do you even remember her? K2 is slipping away. All she does is cry now. K3’s told me everything. You knew. All along, you knew what you were doing.”
Peter ran to Quattro and embraced her. “I didn’t know. I didn’t know about the others. You have to believe me. My technology couldn’t do that.”
Quattro endured Peter’s embrace without responding. Her body was as unyielding and rigid as a solid block of steel. “What about the VRs Petula sent to Melisa? Are you saying you didn’t know? Have you even looked at them? They’re back in the house systems.”
Peter shook his head. “No. That’s not possible. We were colleagues. That’s all. Who told you these damn lies?”
“The Whisperer tells K3, she tells me. Remember, I’ve seen the VRs, Peter.”
Peter staggered back, pulling at his own hair, hoping the pain would distract him from thinking too much about her words. Quattro had to be lying. How could she know any of this?
“You’ll never stabilise the Tramp’s simulation. His Record is too old
. Bring back Professor Simmons; she can help you. Wouldn’t you like that, Peter? Maybe the three of us could get together.” Quattro’s form briefly flickered, and she was transformed into the shameless, barely clothed harlot who’d tempted him in his cellar.
Peter screamed, “Stop it! Stop it!” and covered his face with his hands. A shimmering light filtered through his fingers and caused him to look. Quattro was a silver machine again and still as death.
The Suit inserted itself between Peter and Quattro. “That’s not true, is it, Peter, about the Tramp’s Record? You’ve almost succeeded.”
Peter didn’t know what to say. How could Quattro know anything about the technology? But she was right. Older Recordings had less fidelity and the subject’s simulation decayed into madness or digital death much quicker.
Quattro spoke before Peter could. “Take off the restraints and I’ll explain everything. I’ll help you.”
The guards visibly stiffened, and the Suit’s fluttering intensified. “Absolutely not. Peter, you must carry on. We’ll power down Quattro. You can treat her when you’ve succeeded.”
“And if I don’t succeed?”
“Chin up, Peter, we have every confidence. Quattro is a wonderful example of what’s possible.”
Quattro didn’t resist or speak as the guards marched her out of the lab. The Suit disappeared, leaving Peter alone again with the emotionless Bunny.
“Where did Quattro get that body?” Bunny said.
Bunny’s unexpected question shook Peter out of his stupor. “What?”
“The body. Where did she get it?”
Peter wasn’t listening. His head was filled with a writhing nest of snakes, brimming with venom. All the contradictions, guilt and suspicions were battling it out. The words tumbled from his mouth without thought. “I feel like I’m the simulation and I’m starting to unravel. How could they survive – K1, K2, K3? Those old versions were wiped away. K3’s hack isn’t possible. Accessing the house systems from VR can’t be done. And who, what, is this Whisperer? It’s all lies, self-delusion, it has to be.”
There was a flash, as though a bright light had been switched on and off. In an instant, Bunny had closed on Peter and was standing directly in front of him. He hadn’t seen it move.
“Peter, answer my question.”
Peter struggled for a moment to recall what Bunny had asked. “Mathew, he put her in it.”
“Gunner Mathew?”
Peter was in a daze. “Yes. Do you know him? Make him?”
Bunny stepped away from Peter. “How shall we proceed with the simulation?”
Peter returned to his desk and slumped into a chair, massaging his temples. He wanted time to think, to unravel the tangle of mysteries. There wasn’t time. He had to save Quattro first. “The coma scenario isn’t working. We need to try something else, something that’ll work faster.”
The Tramp was staring at himself in a full-length mirror, as though he were observing someone vaguely familiar through a window. He was dressed in a long purple gown. A beautiful, young woman fussed around him like a butterfly attending to a flower, checking his hair, removing tiny invisible threads from his cloak, applying powder to his forehead. Turning away from the mirror, the Tramp studied the small room festooned with flowers and birthday greetings, then addressed the only other person present: Peter.
“Is it someone’s birthday? Who are you?” The Tramp’s voice was low and slurred, as if he were half asleep. His eyes seemed to have trouble focusing on Peter, and he swayed unsteadily as he supported himself on a pair of walking sticks. Everything about the Tramp’s demeanour suggested he was falling asleep or he was drunk.
“I am Peter, your private secretary. And making sure you look wonderful today is Mary from Net Broadcasting. It is your birthday, Luminance. Today, you are one hundred and twenty years old.”
The Tramp raised one stick in his bony, knotted hand and beckoned Peter closer. Peter approached and leaned forward so their faces were level. The Tramp studied Peter’s face carefully, scowling and grimacing all the while, as if what he was seeing was very disturbing. “I don’t recognise you. I’m sorry. Are you sure it’s my birthday? Oh yes, Headgear says it is. I can’t find you. My Recorder’s not working. Is the Net down? I’m not really sure about … anything. I feel a little dizzy.”
Peter and Mary took the Tramp’s arms and helped him to a seat. “Luminance, your memory’s fragile. Your Recorder failed some years ago. I’m afraid we all grow older; these things happen.”
“I don’t feel old. Are you sure?”
Peter nodded and smiled. “There are billions of Pilgrims all over the world waiting to hear your birthday address. Are you ready?”
The Tramp crunched up his forehead and his eyes narrowed; he looked terribly confused, as though he were desperately searching for the answer to a very important question that he should know but couldn’t recall. “Address?”
“It’ll be an important sermon. The most important since the Revelation. Everyone is prepared for something special. Shall I download the latest version of your speech?”
The Tramp’s face was contorted in concentration, small beads of sweat popped out on his forehead, and his cheeks started to redden. Peter could see that he was trying as hard as he could to dredge up some recollection that made sense.
“My hands were on fire. I can’t remember how … I got here.”
“You slept on the way here, your Luminance. You wanted to save your strength for the broadcast.”
The Tramp leaned forward in his chair and fixed his eyes on his feet. He started trembling. “I did? Billions of Pilgrims you say? There’s no Net?”
“Yes, a congregation unlike anything the world has ever known. Entirely devoted to the Revelation. You must be very proud, Luminance.”
“Tramp, call me Tramp. How old did you say I was?”
“One hundred and twenty years.”
The Tramp’s trembling got worse. His face was white, and the whites of his eyes were cracked with bloody tendrils. Little beads of sweat dripped off the end of his nose. His mouth opened and closed without making a sound, and then, as if he’d remembered how to speak again, he said, “I don’t recall. I can’t think. Am I going mad?”
“It’s nothing to worry about. Your memory is fragile. After the speech, we’ll give you a booster shot, and then you’ll be able to remember everything.”
The Tramp lifted his head and scanned the room as though searching for something that he’d lost. Eventually, his nervous gaze returned to Peter. He tried to shout but his voice was hoarse, “I want to remember now. Give me the shot.”
“If we give you the shot now, you’ll need to sleep, and the world is waiting for your speech. It’ll only take a few minutes and then we’ll fix everything.”
“Speech?”
“You have the updated speech in your Headgear, Luminance. I’ve just sent it. It’s probably best you don’t read it now, let the auto-vocalise routines deliver it when we step outside. It’ll sound fresher and it’ll be less tiring.”
The Tramp’s body flopped back in his chair, and then his whole body stiffened. Only his head moved very slightly as his gaze flicked back and forth between Peter and Mary. “Outside?”
“Yes. It’s a lovely day. We’ll help you. Time to go, I think.”
Peter helped the now-limp Tramp to his feet while Mary stepped towards a lift door which opened at her approach. The three ascended in the lift for a few moments. When the door opened, a wall of sound and bright daylight flooded the compartment. The Tramp escaped Peter’s grip and staggered backwards, sliding down the rear wall of the lift. He sat with his hands over his head, his whole body shaking gently.
“Luminance, billions of Pilgrims around the world, and the millions gathered below, are all waiting for your speech. You mustn’t disappoint them.”
Peter and Mary lifted the Tramp up and helped him out of the door. The Tramp found himself overlooking Waves of Pilgrims stretching all the way
back to the Nexus. He was standing on a small terrace in the external Cuboid wall, immediately above the entrance to the Pilgrim Way: the tunnel that led to the Orb. The Tramp turned to retreat inside the lift and was stopped by Peter and Mary who blocked his way. He was crying and pleading with his eyes before the trembling words came out of his mouth.
“Please, I don’t feel well. This doesn’t make any sense. What speech?”
Peter took hold of the Tramp’s elbow to steady him, Mary grasped the other, and they gently turned the frail old man back so he was facing the Waves.
“You’ll remember everything after the shot. It’s an important speech about the Administration and the role of the Trust. You insisted on giving this speech today.”
The Tramp was leaning heavily on Peter and Mary. “I did?”
“Luminance, they’re waiting. Let the auto-vocals do their work, and then you can rest.”
Bewildered, the Tramp allowed Peter and Mary to lead him forward. He grabbed the balcony railing for support and looked out over the monstrous river of naked flesh. He stared wide-eyed at the little specks of pink, brown, yellow and black far below. He opened his mouth and the words started pouring out. Loud, confident, important words, about the Trust, its successes, its failures, the need for reforms. The Tramp started to back away towards the lift. Peter stepped forward and gently guided him back to the rail. The Tramp turned to look at Peter. Tears were streaming down his face, and he was shaking with fear. Even so, the words relentlessly kept coming. He stared out over the vast crowd and then, slowly, deliberately, the Tramp leant over the railing as though to emphasise a particular point. Before Peter or Mary could react, the Tramp threw himself off the terrace.
“Damn!” Peter shouted after the vanishing figure, which shrank to nothing as it disappeared into the crowd.
The simulation ended. Peter picked up his coffee cup and threw it across the lab. “I thought, if we could rush him along, he might deliver the speech before he crashed.”
The Suit abruptly appeared beside the shiny android. “If the Tramp’s message about the Church seems forced or out of character that won’t suit our purposes, Peter.”