A Cage of Butterflies (9 page)

XIX

ERIK'S STORY

It had to be Myriam. If anyone was going to find out what was happening inside Ricky's mind, it had to be her.

We left the complex with minutes to spare. Larsen and MacIntyre got the fire under control, once they managed to find an extinguisher that actually worked, but the kids had worked out a number of urgent wild-goose chases to keep them occupied after that. By the time Chris called on the two-way to warn us, we were already clear of the complex and the Babies were back on their beds, pretending to be asleep still.

Susan was quiet. I knew she was thinking; that she had moved beyond the shock to try to find a solution. Her forehead was wrinkling and she was biting her bottom lip.

“He
is
still alive. That must mean he's in there somewhere … mustn't it?”

I wanted to say “yes”, to reassure her, but she didn't need false security. Ricardo didn't need that. We needed a plan. A way to bring him back – if there was any way
to
bring him back.

I looked at her. The tears had smudged her eye make-up and her hair was tangled from the wind, which had blown up since we'd entered the complex. Her pain was showing, and I don't think I ever loved her quite as much as I did at that moment.

“I don't know what it means.” I was as honest as I could bring myself to be. “But if he is still in there, he's pretty well hidden. None of the Babies can find a trace of him. Suse, you're going to have to face the possibility that he's … gone. Breathing and heartbeat, even reflexes … they're not
conscious
functions. They could still occur even if the Noise had obliterated his conscious mind completely.”

I saw the tears start, but she turned from me, drew a deep breath and controlled them. When she turned back, her eyes were dry. Almost.

“But there's still a chance. And while there is, we have to try to bring him back. Myriam will think of something. Trust her.”

There was nothing more I could say. Susan wasn't stupid. She knew the score. It was just matter now of waiting. For Myriam to try. For Larsen's next move.

We made our way into the main building via the back door. There was a smell of smoke in the air, and someone had opened all the windows and doors to disperse it.

The curtains of the rec room moved in the breeze as we entered. The “tank” members were all there, but nobody spoke. They were waiting for us.

I looked at Suse. She nodded. I wasn't sure what to say, but the silence needed filling, so I began. I'm still not sure which words I used, but pretty soon the whole situation was on the table. I stopped talking and there was silence again, for a moment.

Then Greg spoke. He was leaning on his crutches, staring out of the window across to the Babies' complex, and his voice seemed far away. The usual cynical humour was gone; the sense of dismissive fun with which he faced the world. But there was no bitter edge, no aggression. He was calm, his words were considered.

“Well, we've got to alter the plan. If the Babies don't want to go home, we've got to work out a way to protect them
and
keep them together.”

I noticed he didn't mention Ricky. Greg was like that. If there was something he had no solution for, if there was something he didn't want to face, it simply didn't exist. Not until he was ready, until his subconscious problem-solving circuits had come up with a solution.

Susan noticed it too. She squeezed my hand gently, just in case I was going to be stupid enough to say something. I'm dumb, but not
that
dumb. I just looked at her and smiled weakly.

“And how do we do that?” Chris spoke up from the other side of the room. He was sitting on the exercise bike; not pedalling, just sitting there. He'd often feed Greg the leading question. He was bright enough to know it would fire off a creative thought. “I don't know,” was never a phrase in Greg's vocabulary. He always had to have an answer, and more often than not it made some kind of sense. Or at least sparked off a discussion.

The strategy worked, as usual.

“Well, the first thing we do is make sure that Larsen doesn't try any more of those experiments on them. What does he think they are, laboratory rats?” For a moment, his “cool” gave way, but he controlled it instantly. “And we have to get Susan and Erik back inside the complex. On a permanent basis. Any ideas?”

iwehaveone
… It was Pep.

At once the room exploded.

“Pep, are you all right?”

“We were so worried.”

“What about Ricky? Is he …”

All the questions, all the fears poured out.

But Greg cut through the confusion, single-minded as usual.

“What's your idea?”

wewillasklarsento … sendthembackhe … willlistento … us.

“What, you mean
talk
to him?”

inaway … wemustlearnto … leadhimon … tothrow-himalittle … bait … rachaelandian … havealready … started … iwillhelpthem …

“How?”

weplay … hisgamehis … waywegivehimwhat … he-thinkshe … wants.

More questions. The Babies were never really clear in their explanations. The words got in the way. And besides, the kids were just so anxious to communicate.

Only Mikki was silent, a strange look on her face. Then she spoke.

“You said Rachael and Ian. What about Myriam? Can I speak with her?”

myriamis … nothere … evenwecannot … mindspeak-her … shehas … goneinsidetolookfor … ricardo …

XX

Down…

September 22, 1990

Down inside, she went. Down, through the layers of mind. Searching.

Her consciousness was tuned.

Needle-point thin, it probed, first, the teeming surface of his mind. The thoughts which flashed electric-quick from cell to cell, synapse to synapse. The thoughts, the knowing. The learned things. Circling, waiting; a sea of random images, a vast and tideless pool of information, needing only the focus of his consciousness to give it purpose. That very part of him she sought so desperately.

The images circled, thoughts flowed, unconnected, directionless, and for a moment, an eternity, she floated among them, drifting aimlessly, as they passed over and around – and through – her. Some she recognised, like a vague but oddly familiar memory; deja vu, thoughts she had shared at some time with his mind. Others were unknown, unremembered; strange – at times disturbing – visions of the half-life before the Sharing. Fear and pain, screaming frustration. And anger; an anger that was never a part of the Ricardo they had known, the Ricardo they had Shared.

Time ceased. For drifting in that flood, submerged in it, yet strangely apart from it, she was beyond time. Beyond …

It would be so easy just to float, unfocused, like the fragments of all he had learned, like the images, the feelings …

And cease to exist!

Suddenly, something deep inside her fading consciousness screamed a silent warning. Along that path lay nothing. An absence of self; total abdication of the will. That way lay, not death, but unlife. Your soul, infinitely divided among those thoughts and images and feelings, not your own, not under your control, fragmenting, until it lost the very essence of itself and ceased to be.

With an effort of will, she focused her control and moved on. Down beyond the thinking and the memories.

Down …

“I need your help.” Larsen stood at the door, and mopped his over-large forehead nervously with a handkerchief. “With the Babies … Something is happening.”

He looked vaguely distracted – a rare sight, he was normally so “in control”. Susan stepped away from the door and motioned him inside.

Erik stood up as Larsen entered, and for a moment the scientist seemed surprised. Then the moment passed and he began speaking.

“I'd like you to come down and have a look at them. Especially Ricardo and Myriam. They seem to have developed a new manifestation of the … condition.”

He's not giving anything away. He's trying to bluff you.

Susan looked him directly in the eye, and watched his gaze falter as she read the near-panic in his expression.

No, he's not going to say anything until he hears what you have to say.

As Larsen looked away, Susan cast a glance at Erik, who winked and mouthed something she couldn't catch. Then she heard herself saying, “I'll be over in a few minutes.” And, after a short pause: “You'll have to meet me at the door. I don't have the new entry code.”

Erik coughed slightly to cover a smile and Larsen moved towards the door, stammering. “Take your time. I would just like to get your opinion.”

And he was gone.

“He's not letting on.” Erik moved across to join her at the door. “He didn't mention the twins or Pep. And I'll bet a hundred to one that he doesn't get around to the subject of sticking needles in defenceless little kids. Just take it easy. Remember, he's going to be recording every move you make, and looking for some sign. Especially after the little show they've been putting on for him.” For a moment, he was silent. Then he wrapped both arms around her from behind, and kissed her hair gently. “I'm getting worried about Myriam. How long has it been now?”

Susan consulted her watch:
9:37.
“About eighteen hours. That's a long time. I hope it's not a bad sign.”

“Who knows? It's uncharted territory. No one's ever attempted it before. I don't even know what the poor kid is trying to do. And the others can't contact her. Her thought-pattern disappeared as soon as she went Inside. We just have to wait …”

“And pray.”

“And try to carry out the next part of the plan. We have to assume she'll succeed.”

The alternative was unthinkable. Susan turned to face him. Her eyes shone. Too brightly.

“Hold that thought.” She kissed him gently, and turned to open the door.

Outside, the wind was cool, and the stars shone coldly down from a clear, black-velvet sky …

Down …

And emotions crashed around her like a storm-tide. Here was no thought. No learned response. No fruits of higher reason. Here was emotion: raw, primitive. Frightening. How easy to be swept along. The feelings were so powerful. Love. Hate. Fear which made her want to scream, a soundless mind-scream that found its echo in the whirlwind of emotion which drew her into its vortex and tore at her control.

Down here lived the ancestors, prowling the boundaries of their territory, living on instinct, feeding each hunger as it grew. But he wasn't here.

And so she moved on, probing ever deeper. Down, beyond the boundaries of thought. Beyond mere emotion. Backwards in time to an age of pure survival.

Down to the realm of Self …

Larsen led her into the observation booth and pointed through the glass. The three Babies sat around the end of the main table, heads down, writing on sheets of paper.

“What are they writing?”

Larsen looked nervous. “I'll show you in a minute … First come with me.”

He led her out again and they moved down the corridor towards Myriam's room. Larsen pushed the door open and they entered.

Susan drew a breath in shock. Although she had expected … something, this was worse. Much worse.

The little girl's eyes were open, like Ricky's, and so was her mouth, as if even the muscles in her face had ceased to function. And the blankness in those eyes she would always remember with a surge of cold fear.

For a moment, her mind conjured the ultimate horror. Of being trapped inside an empty mind, or worse, a mind driven mad by the uncontrolled power of the Noise. Trapped and unable to find a way out.

She fought the urge to run to the bed and hold the child to her.

Larsen was speaking. “We found her like that yesterday. And she hasn't moved a muscle since. The Munoz kid is exactly the same. Do you think it could be the next stage in the syndrome?”

“What syndrome?” She jumped at the phrase, and Larsen realised that he had unwittingly voiced his thoughts. He stammered: “Their condition, I mean …” He moved towards the door. “Come and have a look at him, and I'll explain …”

Sure you will … And the tooth fairy's got braces.

Susan followed, staring daggers at the bald man's back.

And there, at last, she found him.

There amongst the ancient vestiges of Self. Amongst the hungers and desires; the primitive, unthinking instincts of a hundred million years that lurked within; buried, unseen yet powerful, while mind evolved and emotions flowered. While memory and reason and civilisation gained the throne.

There she found him. Stripped of all he was; of all he had been. Safe behind that barrier. Clinging to the essence of himself.

Before the onslaught of the Noise, only this one central and ancient keep had held. The battlements of reason had been breached. Emotions had wilted and broken before the tide: love, hate … even fear. Too weak. Too civilised. Only this had stood fast. Only life's most basic urge. To exist. To survive.

The most primitive part of himself. The barrier that had turned back the Noise.

Ricardo lived.

Among the base reptilian drives, the prehistoric urges, Myriam sensed his spark. His soul. And she was drawn to it …

“What happened?”

They stood over Ricky's bed, staring down at his unmoving form.

“I honestly don't know. We didn't …” He faltered.

Susan stared at him, her eyes demanding more. She could see the conflict written across his face. The battle between secrecy and revelation; his pride and his desperate need for her help.

The need won out.

“We didn't do anything which should cause … this.” There was a pleading tone in his voice, which she pointedly ignored.

“What
did
you do?” Her tone demanded an answer. His will caved in.

“Sodium Pentothal. Only a very small dose. Just enough to weaken his resistance to our … questions. The Babies have shown signs …” Again, he paused, but he had come too far now to stop. “You have seen some of the evidence yourself. I didn't want to believe it at first. I refused to. But it seemed clear that some sort of … abnormal communication must —”

“You mean telepathy?”

“I don't know. I've searched the tapes for something –
anything
– to explain it. Subtle facial expressions, secret signs. Body language. Nothing. And yet it had to be taking place. So, I isolated the boy —”

“How?” Susan turned the screw, punishing him, drawing malicious enjoyment from his discomfort.

“How?” Larsen looked vague.

“How did you isolate him?”

The scientist looked pale. But he answered. “You have to understand. If any … telepathic link existed, no …” he was searching for words, but the euphemisms had fled “… interrogation would have been valid, unless …” now, it rushed out “… unless we sedated the others. We had to have him completely on his own. But —”

“But it didn't work?” She pressed her advantage, controlled the flow.

Larsen squirmed. “No. It … didn't work.” He reached for his handkerchief and mopped his brow again. “As soon as the drug began to work, he screamed aloud, just once, then …” Larsen glanced down at the bed. “He's been like this ever since.”

“And Myriam?”

“I don't know. I really don't. We kept the others sedated until yesterday, but when we came back after that damned fire … They started to come around, and she seemed all right – if you can tell what all right
is
with them. Then, suddenly, she just … dropped out. And she's been like that ever since.”

“Did anything happen – apart from the sedation – that might have caused the change?”

“Nothing. I told you …” He paused thoughtfully. “Unless something happened while we were out of the complex. It was only forty minutes or so, but —”

“Couldn't you check the tapes? Surely that would tell you.”

“No, I can't. While we were out, something tripped the circuit-breaker on the power loop. The damned videos were out of action.” He was looking down at the boy, and Susan stifled a knowing smile.

“Look, I don't know what you can do, but I don't want the others going the same way. Hell, maybe the Pentothal's got nothing to do with it. After all, we never dosed
her
with the stuff.”

“What about the others? Why were you so keen for me to see them? Are they behaving —”

“Why don't you judge for yourself?” There was an impatience in his voice, a reassertion of the old authority.

Pull back, Susie. You don't want to blow it now …

“I'd like to. This whole situation is … intriguing.” She attempted a winning smile, but it felt dangerously false. Luckily, Larsen had already turned away.

Once more she followed him out of the room, this time throwing a glance over her shoulder at the child on the bed. Ricky hadn't moved.

At first, he fled from her and she could sense his fear. One speck of emotion drifting away, always just a little out of reach. She stretched her consciousness towards him and he retreated. But she persisted, drawing desperately on her memories of love. Of the Sharing.

Here, it was so hard to feel. It sucked out your emotions like a sponge and gave nothing back. A desert of ancient and unthinking drives, it had no use for thought or feeling, only hungers to be satisfied. How long before it drained your very soul?

She called to him, but the mind-speech failed, stillborn in this alien world …

No. Not alien.

Behind the hungers and the drives, beyond the mindless need to satisfy, she sensed the beating of a heart, the rise and fall of lungs inside a chest, the red flood coursing down a million tiny channels.

Life was not emotions, not the towering monuments of art and music. It was not even love. Stripped of all that gave it meaning, reduced to its essence, it was no more than this. The pulse of blood. The feeding of desires.

Life was the unborn baby, struggling towards its first breath; the underwater swimmer aching towards the surface, lungs bursting for air. Life was the struggle to be.

And suddenly she knew. How.

The Noise had driven him here; down, beyond his humanity; beyond memory and the reach of words. Beyond love. Down to this place.

Only one thing could force him back …

They were still writing. Susan made her way into the room with Larsen following.

Around the table, the floor was littered with sheets of paper. She bent down to pick one up, knowing already what it would contain. One word, written hundreds of times. A name. Her name. In capitals.

SUSAN.

We must learn to lead him on; throw him a little bait.

Larsen had taken the hook. She was inside. The plan was under way.

Behind her, Larsen moaned, and she turned to look at what was happening. None of the Babies had looked up since they had entered the room, but at precisely the same position on each page, the word they were writing changed.