Daughter of Regals (20 page)

NORMAN
WAS A PERFECTLY SAFE, PERFECTLY SANE
man.
He lived with his wife and son, who were both perfectly safe, perfectly sane,
in a world that was perfectly sane, perfectly safe. It had been that way all
his life. So when he woke up that morning, he felt as perfect as always. He
had no inkling at all of the things that had already started to happen to him.

As
usual, he woke up when he heard the signal from the biomitter cybernetically
attached to his wrist; and as usual, the first thing he did was to press the
stud which activated the biomitter’s LED readout. The display gleamed greenly
for a moment on the small screen. As usual, it said,
You are OK.
There
was nothing to be afraid of.

As
usual, he had absolutely no idea what he would have done if it had said
anything else.

His
wife, Sally, was already up. Her signal came before his so that she would have
time to use the bathroom and get breakfast started. That way there would be no
unpleasant hurrying. He rolled out of bed promptly and went to take his turn
in the bathroom, so that he would not be late for work and his son, Enwell,
would not be late for school.

Everything
in the bathroom was the same as usual. Even though Sally had just used it, the
vacuum-sink was spotless. And the toilet was as clean as new. He could not even
detect his wife’s warmth on the seat. Everything was perfectly safe, perfectly
sane. His reflection in the mirror was the only thing that had changed.

The
tight lump in the centre of his forehead made no sense to him. He had never
seen it before. Automatically, he checked his biomitter; but again it said,
You
are OK.
That seemed true enough. He did not feel ill—and he was almost the
only person he knew who knew what “ill” meant. The lump did not hurt in any
way. But still he felt vaguely uneasy. He trusted the biomitter. It should have
been able to tell him what was happening.

Carefully,
he explored the lump. It was as hard as bone. In fact, it seemed to be part of
his skull. It looked familiar; and he scanned back in his memory through some
of the books he had read until he found what he wanted. His lump looked like
the base of a horn, or perhaps the nub of a new antler. He had seen such things
in books.

That
made even less sense. His face wore an unusual frown as he finished in the
bathroom. He returned to the bedroom to get dressed and then went to the
kitchen for breakfast.

Sally
was just putting his food on the table—the same juice, cereal, and soyham that
she always served him— a perfectly safe meal that would give him energy for the
morning without letting him gain weight or become ill. He sat down to eat it as
he always did. But when Sally sat down opposite him, he looked at her and said,
“What’s this thing on my forehead?”

His
wife had a round bland face, and its lines had slowly become blurred over the
years. She looked at his lump vaguely, but there was no recognition in her
eyes. “Are you OK?” she said.

He
touched the stud of his biomitter and showed her that he was OK.

Automatically,
she checked her own biomitter and got the same answer. Then she looked at him
again. This time, she, too, frowned. “It shouldn’t be there,” she said.

Enwell
came into the kitchen, and Sally went to get his breakfast. Enwell was a
growing boy. He watched the food come as if he were hungry, and then he began
to eat quickly. He was eating too quickly. But
Norman
did not need to say anything. Enwell’s biomitter gave a low hum and
displayed in kind yellow letters,
Eat more slowly.
Enwell obeyed with a
shrug.

Norman
smiled at his son’s obedience, then frowned again. He trusted his
biomitter. It should be able to explain the lump on his forehead. Using the
proper code, he tapped on the face of the display, I need
a doctor. A
doctor
would know what was happening to him.

His
biomitter replied,
You are OK.

This
did not surprise him. It was standard procedure— the biomitter was only doing
its job by reassuring him. He tapped again,
I need a doctor.
This time,
the green letters said promptly,
Excused from work. Go to
Medical
Building
room 218.

Enwell’s
biomitter signalled that it was time for him to go to school. “Got to go,” he
mumbled as he left the table. If he saw the lump on his father’s forehead, he
did not think enough about it to say anything. Soon he had left the house. As
usual, he was on time.

Norman
rubbed his lump. The hard bony nub made him feel uneasy again. He
resisted an urge to recheck his biomitter. When he had finished his breakfast,
he said goodbye to Sally as he always did when he was going to work. Then he
went out to the garage and got into his mobile.

After
he had strapped himself in, he punched the address of the
Medical
Building
into the console. He knew where the
Medical
Building
was, not
because he had ever been there before (in fact, no one he knew had ever been
there), but because it was within sight of the National Library, where he
worked. Once the address was locked in, his mobile left the garage smoothly on
its balloon tires (a perfectly safe design), and slid easily into the perfectly
sane flow of the traffic.

All the
houses on this street were identical for a long way in either direction; and as
usual
Norman
paid no attention
to them. He did not need to watch the traffic, since his mobile took care of
things like that. His seat was perfectly comfortable. He just relaxed in his
safety straps and tried not to feel concerned about his lump until his mobile
deposited him on the curb outside the
Medical
Building
.

This
building was much taller and longer than the National Library; but apart from
that, the two were very much alike. Both were empty except for the people who
worked there; and the people worked there because they needed jobs; not because
there was any work that needed to be done. And both were similarly laid out
inside.
Norman
had no trouble
finding his way.

Room
218 was in the Iatrogenics Wing. In the outer office was a desk with a computer
terminal very much like the one
Norman
used at the library; and at the desk sat a young woman with yellow
hair and confused eyes. When
Norman
entered her office, she stared at him as if he were sick. Her stare
made him touch his lump and frown. But she was not staring at his forehead.
After a moment, she said, “It’s been so long—I’ve forgotten what to do.”

“Maybe
I should tell you my name,” he said.

“That
sounds right,” she said. She sounded relieved. “Yes, I think that’s right. Tell
me your name.”

He told
her. She looked around the terminal, then pushed a button to engage some kind
of program.

“Now
what?” he said.

“I don’t
know,” she said. She did not seem to like being so confused.

Norman
did not know, either. But almost at once the door to the inner
office opened. The woman shrugged, so
Norman
just walked through the doorway.

The
inner office had been designed to be cosy; but something had gone wrong with
its atmospherics, and now it was deep in dust. When
Norman
sat down in the only chair, he raised the dust, and the dust made
him cough.

“I’m
Doctor Brett,” a voice said. “You seem to have a cough.”

The
voice came from a console that faced the chair. Apparently, Doctor Brett was a
computer who looked just like the Director of the National Library.
Norman
relaxed automatically. He naturally
trusted a computer like that. “No,” he said. “It’s the dust.”

“Ah,
the dust,” the computer said. “I’ll make a note to have it removed.” His voice
sounded wise and old and very rusty. After a moment, he went on, “There must be
something wrong with my scanners. You look healthy to me.’

Norman
said, “My biomitter says I’m OK.”

“Well,
then my scanners must be right. You’re in perfect health. Why did you come?”

“I have
a lump on my forehead.”

“A
lump?” Doctor Brett hummed. “It looks healthy to me. Are you sure it isn’t
natural?’

“Yes.”
For an instant,
Norman
felt
unnaturally irritated. He touched the lump with his fingers. It was as hard as
bone—no, harder, as hard as steel, magnacite. It was as hard as tung-diamonds.
He began to wonder why he had bothered to come here.

“Of
course, of course,” the doctor said. “I’ve checked your records. You weren’t
born with it. What do you think it is?”

The
question surprised
Norman
. “How
should I know? I thought you were going to tell me.”

“Of
course,” said the computer. “You can trust me.

I’ll
tell you everything that’s good for you. That’s what I’m here for. You know
that. The Director of the National Library speaks very highly of you. It’s in
your records.” The machine’s voice made
Norman
’s irritation evaporate. He trusted his biomitter. He trusted Doctor
Brett. He settled himself in the chair to hear what his lump was. But even that
amount of movement raised the dust. He sneezed twice.

Doctor
Brett said, “You seem to have a cold.”

“No,”
Norman
said. “It’s the dust.”

“Ah,
the dust,” Doctor Brett said. “Thank you for coming.”

“‘Thank
you for—’?”
Norman
was
surprised. All at once, he felt very uneasy. He felt that he had to be careful.
“Aren’t you going to tell me what it is?”

“There’s
nothing to worry about,” the doctor said. “You’re perfectly healthy. It will go
away in a couple of days. Thank you for coming.”

The
door was open.
Norman
stared at
the computer. The Director did not act like this. He was confused. But he did
not ask any more questions. Instead, he was careful. He said, “Thank you,
Doctor,” and walked out of the office. The door closed behind him.

The
woman was still sitting at the outer desk. When she saw
Norman
, she beckoned to him. “Maybe
you—can help me,” she said.

“Yes?”
he said.

“I
remember what I’m supposed to do now,” she said. “After you see the Doctor, I’m
supposed to get his instructions”—she tapped the console—”and make sure you
understand them. But nobody’s ever come here before. And when I got this job, I
didn’t tell them”—she looked away from
Norman
—”that I don’t know how to read.”

Norman
knew what she meant. Of course, she could read her
biomitter—everybody could do that. But except for that, reading was not taught
anymore; Enwell certainly was not learning how to read in school.
Reading
was not needed anymore. Except for
the people at the National Library,
Norman
was the only person he knew who could actually read. That was why
no one ever came to use the Library.

But now
he was being careful. He smiled to reassure the woman and walked around the
desk to look at her console. She tapped the display to activate the readout.

At
once, vivid red letters sprang across the screen. They said:

SECRET
CONFIDENTIAL PRIVATE

PERSONAL
SECRET UNDER NO

CIRCUMSTANCES
REPEAT UNDER NO

CIRCUMSTANCES
SHOW THIS DIAGNOSIS

TO
PATIENT OR REVEAL ITS CONTENTS

Then there was a series of
numbers that
Norman
did not
understand. Then the letters said:

ABSOLUTE
PRIORITY TRANSMIT AT ONCE

TO
GENERAL HOSPITAL EMERGENCY

DIVISION
REPEAT EMERGENCY DIVISION

ABSOLUTE
PRIORITY

“Transmit,”
the woman said. “That means I’m supposed to send this to the Hospital.” Her
hand moved toward the buttons that would send the message.

Norman
caught her wrist. “No,” he said. “That isn’t what it means. It
means something else.”

The
woman said, “Oh.”

The
bright red letters said:

DIAGNOSIS

PATIENT SUFFERING FROM MASSIVE

GENETIC BREAKDOWN OF INDETERMINATE

ORIGIN COMPLETE REPEAT COMPLETE

STRUCTURAL TRANSITION IN PROGRESS