Epiworld (3 page)

There are no clocks, but we always know the time because Mother Superior announces the hour. She has our day timetabled to the second.

On my second day I have an interview with the institution director, a Professor Michael Charles Chase. Sister Augusta escorts me to his office on the top floor of the building. She knocks, and a voice tells us to come in.

‘Welcome to Number Forty Institution, Mr Travis,’ says the professor, indicating a chair. Professor Chase is a balding man, wearing a dark suit, a white lab coat, and small, gold-rimmed glasses. I wonder if he’s a droid, too, but they don’t usually get the top jobs. Droids are generally designed to serve, like maids or, in the institution’s case, nuns and orderlies. The professor smiles, but his grey eyes are cold.

‘I am a neurosurgeon as well as a trained psychiatrist,’ he says. ‘Do you know what that means?’

‘You’re a head doctor,’ I reply shortly.

‘That’s right. I also oversee the management of this establishment. I am responsible for the mental health and welfare of all the boys. In your particular case you have epilepsy. Here I can maintain your safety, and the safety of the public in the outside world.’

He pauses, presumably for me to say something. When I don’t his fake smile fades. ‘You have been probed. Do you understand what that means?’

‘Yeah.’ And I’m still narked about it! ‘You’ve stuck one in my neck!’

‘We didn’t detect an ID probe when you arrived, so you have one now. Not only will it identify you as an individual, it is to make sure you follow the rules here, and don’t do anything – rash.’

‘Like what?’ I snarl. ‘Try to escape, you mean?’

‘Escape is impossible,’ he states, ‘but the probe will prevent you from attempting, yes. It is also to ensure you do not become violent. Abusive behaviour is not tolerated. If you disobey our rules you will receive a small electric current from the probe. However, while we are restrictive here, we are not unkind. We will see to it that you get daily medical treatment, and have regular sessions with our duty psychotherapist.’

‘If there’s no cure for what I’ve got,’ I interrupt, ‘then I don’t know why you’re bothering.’

‘This is a specialist hospital, Mr Travis, not a prison. You are not here to serve a sentence, you are here to live out your days comfortably. There are fifty trained androids on hand should you suffer a seizure. You had one yesterday morning. We took care of you, did we not?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Then you will appreciate our efforts. You will of course be aware that all uncontrolled medical conditions are unacceptable in everyday society. There is no room for physical or mental deficiency in our world today. That is the reason why the institutions exist.’

‘To protect the clean,’ I finish in a bitter voice. ‘I know. I’ve seen the publicity.’

‘It is the law of the land.’ The professor presses a button on the corner of his desk, and a nun enters the room. ‘Take Mr Travis back to his ward, please. Good morning, Mr Travis.’

‘Loser,’ I mutter on my way out, and receive a shock from the probe for my trouble.

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H
ating Chase keeps me sane; so does my plan to escape. It’s the only thing occupying my mind, but I know it won’t be easy. I might even die trying.

We’re constantly watched, our every move observed, our every word monitored. The windows are too high to reach, and covered with metal bars, anyway. Then there are the probes. You only have to bare your teeth at someone, and they ‘zap’ you.

The days drag slowly. It isn’t the harsh and cruel life I’ve come to expect, it’s just dull. The boredom is sometimes unbearable. The dark, dismal surroundings don’t do much to help the depressed amongst us. There’s talk of suicide. The younger kids cry a lot. I get to know the other lads on my ward, but we don’t make friends; we only tolerate one another. I tolerate Hudson the most, and Kappelhoff the least.

Every week I have to visit the psychotherapist. I’m deliberately stroppy, he’s irritatingly cheerful.

‘So how are we today, Mr Travis?’ he asks.

It’s probably my sixth visit. I’ve lost count.

I slouch in the chair. ‘How d’you think? Bored witless, and wondering what the hell I’m doing here!’

I shudder. The probe doesn’t like that.

Alexander scribbles notes. ‘Not settled in very well, then?’

‘Like I said, I don’t know what I’m doing here. I’m not a bloody mental case, not like some of them in here!’

‘You don’t have to be a mental case, as you put it. You have incurable epilepsy. You’ve had a total of, let me see, eight seizures in all since you’ve been here.’

‘Doesn’t make me a nutter, though; and it doesn’t mean I have to sit here listening to the crap coming out of your gob!’

Another shock.

‘Epilepsy can be a debilitating condition when seizures occur regularly,’ says Dr Alexander calmly. ‘It can get you down, make you depressed. You seem very depressed to me.’

‘Are you surprised?’ I shout, clasping my neck, and groaning irritably. ‘They’ve thrown me in this dump to rot! Even the bloody mice are depressed in here!’

‘Yes. Well, I will speak to Professor Chase about putting you on a course of mild sedation. This is our sixth session, and you show no signs of settling down. You are restless. I will suggest a course of treatment which won’t affect your epilepsy medication.’

When the ten minutes are over a nun takes me to the dining hall, and afterwards we all go out into the exercise compound, a piece of land with gravel and grass, surrounded by a high perimeter fence. It isn’t powered with nuclear energy; I suppose all they have to do is to activate our probes if we try to scale it. I’m not going to let that stop me! My mind’s made up. I’m out of here!

There are two orderlies on exercise duty. Me, Hudson, and some others have a ball to play with, kicking it, throwing it, catching it; other lads are just sitting around, talking. Kappelhoff is alone as usual. We stray quite close to the fence facing the woods, and I’m about to throw the ball to Hudson, when my eyes wander towards the trees. I look around for the droids; they’re fussing over a couple of the lads at the other end of the compound, telling them to get up off the damp ground.

I see my chance.

Hudson calls for the ball. I throw it, but not at him. I aim it high enough so it easily clears the fence, watching as it rolls on the other side.

‘What the – Travis! You plank, that was our only ball!
Ow
!’ Hudson staggers sideways as his probe reacts.

‘
Shush
!’ I hiss. I stare at the ball, lying on the grass near the edge of the trees. ‘I’ll get it.’

Immediately the others surround me. Hudson grabs my arm. ‘Travis, you’ll never make it!’

‘Keep an eye on the droids – and Kappelhoff. I’m going over.’

‘But you’ll be seen!’ says another lad. ‘You won’t make it. You’ll – you’ll be shot!’

I laugh. ‘Who’s going to shoot me? I’ve never seen the droids brandishing guns!’

The lad is about to say something else, when Hudson holds him back. ‘Let Travis find out what’ll happen. If he won’t believe us, he’s going to have to learn the hard way.’

I start to climb the fence.

‘Gather together,’ Hudson says to the others. ‘Come on, shield him.’

I’ve climbed loads of fences in my time, so I don’t find this one difficult, and I don’t expect to get over without being seen. Kappelhoff’s voice is the first to call out.

‘Orderlies, Travis is on the fence!’

Hudson is on top of Kappelhoff like a flash, but the shock from his probe is strong enough to throw him to the ground. For some reason mine isn’t affected, so I carry on. The droids don’t come after me, either; they just stand together, shoulder-to-shoulder, watching, like they’re waiting for something to happen. The lads watch, too. No one comes running out shouting at me to stop! I don’t care why. I think, naïvely, I’m going to get away with it.

I jump to my freedom, landing heavily on my arse, but I’m not hurt. I throw the ball into the compound, and start to run.

I don’t get far when a laser shower strikes inches away from my head, scorching the grass, and a loud, mechanical voice orders, ‘Stand still!’

So that’s why the droids haven’t moved!

How many guards are there? I see only one, crunching its way towards me through the trees, its eyes burning like fire, its huge, metal hands snapping like pincers. For a moment I’m rooted to the spot, then I’m on the move again.

POW! Another beam misses my back foot. I stumble, but I’m determined not go down without a fight. It’ll most likely catch me, and kill me. Being dead is better than living out my days in Number Forty Institution, but then again I might just make it!

‘You have three seconds to give yourself up!’ it states.

‘Or what, metal nuts?’ I stick up two fingers at it before legging it into the forest.

Boom! Boom! Boom! The ground shakes beneath me as the robot chases me through the trees. It knocks them out of its way as easily as I might knock over a bottle. With every step it takes it gets closer, its beams flying at me from all angles. The forest is thick, branches smack my face, but I keep going.

I try to outwit it. I dodge this way and that, in and out of tree trunks. I hear the sound of cracking behind me: it’s felling more trees to clear its path. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I see another machine heading my way: reinforcements! Now I have nowhere to go, nowhere to hide. I collapse in the undergrowth, sweating, panting, and soon I’m looking up at two metal giants, before my world turns black. I’m a dead man for sure.

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I
’m not dead. I’m back on the ward with a sore tongue. Hudson looks down at me, a tray of soup on his lap, shaking his head. ‘Told you,’ he says. I think he’s disappointed for me.

I become an overnight hero for at least trying to get away. Even Kappelhoff says he’s sorry, but I blacken his eye for squealing on me, getting a shock as a reward.

Chase calls me a troublemaker, and acts on Alexander’s advice by having me sedated. At first I refuse, fighting and lashing out, but the nuns hold me down, so Sister Augusta can inject me in the arm. This happens every morning for a week, until I simply accept my fate, and roll up my sleeve.

‘I’m glad you’ve seen sense at last, Mr Travis,’ says Sister, throwing the used needle into a yellow bucket.

Sedation makes me sleepy and confused. I spend my days in a sort of dream world, with echoing voices, rooms spinning, and faces sweeping in and out of focus. Dr Alexander comes and goes. I haven’t the strength to be awkward. I bet he’s pleased to have me where he wants me. I hear the word ‘calmer’ a few times, but the fits keep coming. I’ve started to have funny visions now, too, crazy episodes where I walk in soft, gritty, golden dust which feels cool beneath my bare feet as water washes over it. It looks like the sea from the picture books. I’m wandering amongst people who are barely dressed. Some of them are near-naked girls, which makes me smile. Now I’m in a street with people wearing colourful clothes; oddly-shaped cars pass along the road, buildings rise tall in the sky, and there isn’t a robot in sight. There are no fires burning in the streets, either. It’s a world I’d like to know better, if it were real.

Then suddenly I’m back in bed, my limbs heavy like lead, the usual post-seizure feeling. I’m not often aware of anything during a fit; I don’t usually have visions. I’ve no idea what they mean.

After one of these episodes Professor Chase stands at the bottom of my bed with Mother Superior and Dr Alexander. The only other person in the ward is a nun sorting out linen.

‘The seizures are getting more violent and more prolonged, and we are spending more time on the care of this boy each day,’ says Chase. ‘I think we should increase the medication.’

‘I’m not sure that’s a good idea,’ replies Alexander. ‘The Valerian sedative can very powerful if the dose is too high, and we’re combining it with Tegretol. I suspect both drugs are reacting badly with one another. Perhaps if we took him off the Valerian...’

‘No!’ snaps Chase. ‘It keeps him passive. I just think his condition has worsened.’

‘There is another possibility, sir,’ says Mother Superior.

‘Well?’

‘You could always consider surgery.’

A shot of electricity tingles through my body that has nothing to do with the probe. I open my mouth to speak, but the words won’t come out.

‘But epileptic surgery hasn’t been carried out in decades,’ protests Alexander. ‘You know very well it was outlawed in twenty forty-nine after the death rate increased. Anyway, there’s no one alive trained to carry out such a procedure.’

‘That’s where you are wrong, Dr Alexander,’ sneers Chase. ‘My methods are a little unorthodox, but I will rid the boy of this scourge once and for all.’

‘And if you do, will Travis be allowed to leave the institution? If it’s a success it will render him clean.’

Chase smiles. ‘How would we explain that to the inspectors? Besides,’ he shrugs his shoulders, ‘the boy will very likely suffer some mental defects as a result. Parts of the brain may need some extensive work. His condition might be cured, but the side effects could be severe. At least we’ll save on the medication.’

I open my mouth and scream.

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H
udson asks urgently if I’m all right. Just as well Alexander, Chase and the nun can’t hear us; Hudson isn’t even in the room. He doesn’t have to be, because we’re using a couple of thought pods he’s taken from Alexander’s office while he’s been in there cleaning.

‘Serves him right for not locking them away,’ laughs Hudson.

It’s the first time I’ve ever seen one up close, because only the richers can afford thought pods. They’re designed to do what it says on the publicity: you can communicate without being overheard. The authorities use them, so there’s no incentive to get them banned; anyway, most richers are in authority. Pods are small, flat, metallic objects, only as big as a thumbnail. I’ve no idea how Hudson has lifted them without being seen. The guards and the droids can’t detect them when they’re in use, because artificial life forms can’t think. Even so, pods can still be found outside the body with device detectors. It isn’t long before the nuns come to the ward to search us.