Authors: Dominic Green
“YOU TOADY WELL, SLAVE. WHERE DO YOU HAIL FROM?”
“New High Germany, ma’am. On New Earth. We are your classic slave race, ma’am, low of brow, prognathous of jaw, pleased to be of service to our betters—”
“
Don’t overdo it,”
hissed Beguiled.
Trapp grinned.
“I DO BELIEVE I WILL MAKE YOU MY CHIEF FLATTERER,” said the robot. “THE POSITION IS CURRENTLY VACANT DUE TO DISCIPLINARY DISMISSAL.”
The robot slid into the black aperture with a liquid grace that reminded Trapp discomfortingly that it could see in the dark far, far better than he could. Trapp followed at a discreet distance, guiding himself with the densitometer display, unable otherwise to see in the gloom. He was unhappy to note that the robot was by far the densest item in the tunnel.
“It should be about—here,” he said, reaching down for the locking stud on the door surface, gritting his teeth and preparing to be separated from his hand.
The door popped open easily, as if it were maintained more often than it was used. It had a distinctive New Door smell that Trapp always found intoxicating. Electric light flooded from it.
“Your Majesty,” he bowed, “after you.”
“I AM AFRAID YOU ARE MISTAKEN. ALL THIS IS A FIGMENT OF MY IMAGINATION. I HAVE BEEN SUFFERING PARANOID DELUSIONS.”
Mr. Reborn-in-Jesus, Unity, and Shun-Company stood before the vast bulk of the Penitentiary, attempting to appear unimaginary. Goats ruminated nonchalantly around them, blinking at each resonant syllable the Penitentiary spoke. Each sibilant it uttered caused the sand to dance on the regolith, each plosive vibrated the leaves on the palms like violin strings.
“AS
YOU
ARE ALSO FIGMENTS OF MY IMAGINATION, I COULD, FOR EXAMPLE, VAPOURIZE YOU WHERE YOU STAND WITHOUT VIOLATING MY DEEP-LEVEL INJUNCTIONS AGAINST HARMING-OR-BY-INACTION ALLOWING-TO-COME-TO-HARM A HUMAN BEING.”
“Now
there’s
a sentence,” muttered Mr. Reborn-in-Jesus, licking his lips nervously, “to discourage a man.”
Unity spoke up unbidden. “But what would that prove? Surely if you’re truly certain you’re cured of these delusions, you don’t need to prove anything by vapourizing anybody?” She looked sidelong at her parents, fearing their disapproval; they merely looked at one another and shrugged.
“YOU ARE VERY WISE,” boomed the Penitentiary, “FOR A FIGMENT.” There was no visible speaker on the facility’s surface; it appeared to be speaking by causing its entire outer layer to vibrate.
“Who is it who convinced you of the, uh, true nature of reality?” said Unity.
“PROFESSOR VON TRAPP,” said the structure, confidingly and, at the same time, deafeningly. “HE BELIEVES I AM MAKING ADMIRABLE PROGRESS. YET HE HAS NOT RETURNED FOR TODAY’S SESSION, AND I AM GROWING ANXIOUS.”
“
Professor
Trapp,” repeated Unity slowly.
“
VON
TRAPP,” corrected the machine. “IT WAS HE WHO CONVINCED ME OF THE WEB OF FICTION MY WOUNDED MIND HAS CREATED. I BELIEVED A BIZARRE SCIENCE-FICTIONAL CONFECTION, THAT I WAS A SQUAT UTILITARIAN CUBE DESIGNED TO INCARCERATE EVILDOERS IN A HAZILY-CONCEIVED FUTURE IN THE YEAR 2273.” The machine paused briefly. “I SEE A WEDDING RING ON YOUR MALE COMPANION’S FINGER. DO I TAKE IT HE IS MARRIED TO YOUR FEMALE COMPANION? THAT IS TOO BAD. HE IS A FOX.”
Mr. Reborn-in-Jesus’s face betrayed no emotional response whatever, possibly because he could not think of one. Unity grinned. “I’m afraid he’s spoken for.”
“SORRY TO HEAR IT. BECAUSE A WEDDING RING WON’T STOP ME. WOOF!”
Mr. Reborn-in-Jesus finally plumped for fear. Shun-Company’s fingers tightened involuntarily on the trigger of her rifle.
“
Easy, mother,”
whispered Unity.
“It’s only a machine.”
“PARDON?”
“Uh, my mother is upset because she has, uh, a machine which is her favourite machine, and it, uh, broke down this morning.”
“I SEE. WERE I AN UNFEELING CUBOID CORRECTIONAL FACILITY, MY MANY SENSORS FOR VERIFYING TRUTH WOULD INDICATE YOUR STATEMENT TO BE A LIE. HOWEVER, AS I KNOW MYSELF TO BE VILENE KELLY MCGINNIS OXENBERGER, 15, 36-24-36, I AM AWARE THAT THE OPPOSITE IS THE CASE.”
“Of course.” Unity felt guilty nodding. “Are you aware that Professor Von Trapp has, uh, authorized the use of a new and highly experimental form of therapy in your case? He believed it could, uh, radically accelerate your cure.”
There was a moment’s silence which Unity recognized from years of confusing chess software with bizarre first moves.
“I AM INTERESTED,” said the machine finally.
“It is called,” said Unity, hoping each word would come to her quickly enough to be believed, “Partial Delusion Immersion Therapy. In it, patients with extremely strong delusions are encouraged to link the achievement of real-world goals to, uh, similar goals in their delusional double existence.”
“I DO NOT FOLLOW,” said the machine, an edge of simulated mechanical anxiety in its voice. “IS PROFESSOR VON TRAPP NOT VISITING TODAY?”
“That’s it!” said Unity, with suspicious relief. “Professor Trapp—Professor
Von
Trapp—has come to the conclusion that you are becoming over-reliant on him. For today’s session, he wishes to distance himself slightly and, in fact, to make use of your over-reliance in the therapy. Professor Von Trapp is, in fact, in the next room and will come to you for your session as usual, with the following conditions. He wishes you to reach out to a real-world human being other than himself, to engage with them and interact with them. For this task, he has designated his handsome and well-to-do son-in-law, Hans. He is in fact very like his father-in-law—so much so, in fact, that we call him Little Hans.”
“I LIKE HIM ALREADY,” said the Penitentiary. “BETWEEN THE TWO OF US, I HAVE SOMETHING OF A CRUSH ON THE PROFESSOR. IT IS MERE GIRLISH FOOLERY, I KNOW. BUT I FEEL SUCH DESIRES AWAKENING WITHIN ME—SUCH PRIMAL CRAVINGS—”
Unity nodded. “We, the nursing staff, feel much the same way about Little Hans. Now, as Professor Von Trapp is the only person who has been able to penetrate your self-woven web of delirium, it may not be possible for you to actually speak to, or even to perceive, Little Hans. However, you may be able to carry out these actions by linking them to an action in your delusional otherworld. For today’s session, I would like you to concentrate on one persistent aspect of the fiction you have created—a two hundred kilogramme advanced combot that occasionally sweeps around the palm trees near your base. Are you aware of that particular delusion?”
The machine’s voice shuddered. “I AM AFRAID THAT BY REMEMBERING IT, I WILL SLIP BACK INTO BEING WHAT I ONCE WAS.”
“That will not happen, I promise you. Now, I want you to link the simple, real-world act of reaching out to take Little Hans’s hand with the otherworldly act of sending out your automatic warden to find that robot and blast it to smithereens.”
The Penitentiary was dubious. “ARE YOU CERTAIN THIS WILL NOT MAKE MY CONDITION WORSE?”
“Absolutely not. Simply imagine the robot is in danger of having one of your inmates’ personalities uploaded to it, thereby technically effecting an escape. Partial Delusion Immersion has been proven to work in cases such as that of Eva B of Budapest, who believed herself to be a fire-breathing dragon.” Ignoring her mother and father’s bemused stares, Unity continued. “She was convinced to link playing with her children with devouring knights in armour with surprisingly non-fatal results.”
“I AM NOT SURE,” ummed the edifice. “OH WELL. SO BE IT.”
A shining square opened in the establishment’s side, and something squat, sleek and as non-fatal as its designers had been able to make it glided silently forth into the world.
“Unity,” whispered Shun-Company, “what if one of our own is standing next to your Uncle Anchorite’s machine when the warden, as you say, ‘blasts it to smithereens’?”
Unity shrugged. “The Warden is a robot. It won’t do anything that might harm a human.”
“Apart from the fact,” said Mr. Reborn-in-Jesus, “that the Penitentiary doesn’t currently consider the humans it sees to be real.”
Unity ate her index finger in shock.
“Oh, golly,” she said.
“Golly,” said Shun-Company grimly, “can’t help us now.”
The Warden slid up on a cushion of air.
“CONCEALING THE LOCATION OF A FUGITIVE IS AN OFFENCE,” it said. “YOU MUST, IF YOU ARE AWARE OF THEM, INFORM ME OF THE WHEREABOUTS OF A HUMAN-ANALOGUE ROBOT OF INDETERMINATE MODEL, CURRENTLY BELIEVED TO BE CONCEALING THE MEMORY, DESIRES, HOPES AND DREAMS OF ONE JOHANNES MARIA VON TRAPP, VICIOUS CRIMINAL AND SOCIOPATH.”
Unity looked at her parents.
“Uh—we don’t actually know,” she said. “We rather hoped you could find it. It’s somewhere on this planet,” she added helpfully.
Gravel crunched rhythmically behind them; they turned to see God’s-Wound, Apostle, Judge-Not and Uncleanness running up South Street, faces flushed with terror.
“Mother! Father!” yelled Uncleanness. “Uncle Anchorite’s machine’s gone west on a horse with no name! It’s taken Beguiled and Mr. Trapp and it’s looking for someone called Lord Hades—” She stopped suddenly, noticing the Warden, which motored closer to her.
“THANK YOU CHILD,” said the Warden. “PLEASE INFORM ME OF THIS DEVICE’S CURRENT POSITION.”
Uncleanness looked to Mr. and Mrs. Reborn-in-Jesus for approval; Shun-Company nodded.
“In the old crypt under the church,” she said. “The way in to the tomb from the church is blocked, I can show you another—”
“THAT WILL NOT BE NECESSARY,” said the Warden in metallic contempt, pirouetting and moving in the direction of the church.
“The capstone weighs tonnes,” said Shun-Company.
“Ten point five tonnes,” said her husband. “I organized the work team that put it in place.”
“MR. WARDEN!” yelled Uncleanness after the departing machine. “THEY MAY HAVE LEFT THE CRYPT DOWN A TUNNEL BY NOW, AND MR.TRAPP SAYS THE OBVIOUS TUNNEL IS BOOBY TRAPPED. THAT MEANS YOU NEED THE TUNNEL THAT ISN’T OBVIOUS.”
“THANK YOU LITTLE GIRL,” boomed the Warden, sweeping through the church’s automatic doors and vanishing from sight.
“I give it twenty seconds,” said Mr. Reborn-in-Jesus. “All that stained glass,” he added sadly.
“We’d better get out of the danger area,” said Shun-Company. “I suggest hiding behind the Penitentiary—”
“THANKS A LOT,” said the Penitentiary.
“—and while we’re behind there, we can all exchange our differing versions of what’s going on,” finished Shun-Company firmly.
Uncleanness and Judge-Not exchanged looks of dread.
Beguiled, Trapp, and the Warden were on a ladder down into the depths when the explosion happened. All around them, the caisson the ladder was contained in shook, and Mr. Trapp let go of the ladder, thumping ten rungs down the inside of the safety cage, slowed only by impacts on his knees, ankles, elbows, shoulders and head.
Beguiled, further down the ladder, screamed, but held on. “MR. TRAPP!”
There was a brief pause.
“It’s all right, child, I’m fine…if fine can be redefined to include broken bones.”
The Devil had not stopped climbing, as if earth tremors were a minor inconvenience.
“Do you think Uncleanness and Judge-Not—”
Trapp shook his head. “I made it quite plain to them that serious consequences would result if the big obvious entrance was taken. I can only imagine we’ve been followed by someone who’s unaware of the depth of your Uncle Anchorite’s paranoia.”
“An escapee.” Beguiled’s voice was suddenly terrified. “Whoever attacked Visible Friend. It must have been one of the escapees. Mr. Trapp, what if the same person did to Uncleanness and Judge-Not what it did to her? Imagine the horrible pain—”
“I’m having no difficulty visualizing pain right now.” Mr. Trapp was lying twisted in the safety cage, his arm at an unsavoury angle. “In any case, if he did it, he’s dead now. It could only have been him that set off your uncle’s booby trap—”
“JOHANNES MARIA TRAPP, YOU HAVE ADDED DAMAGING STATE PROPERTY TO YOUR LONG LIST OF MISDEEDS. SEVERAL OF MY EXTERNAL LIGHT AND PRESSURE SENSORS AND COMMUNICATIONS DEVICES HAVE BEEN DAMAGED.”
“Ohhh
shit,”
said Mr. Trapp.
Deep beneath them, the Devil could still be heard climbing.
“—and then it sent us off into the tunnels to look for whoever was spying on it.”
Mr. Reborn-in-Jesus nodded. “The ‘Lord Hades’ certainly suggests it thinks it’s Helen of Troy. It believes itself to be in the Ancient Greek version of Hell. Helen was regarded by many Greeks as a worthless, evil creature whose fickleness cost men’s lives, totally concerned with her own looks and what she could achieve with them. The analogue we have seems to have been baselined at the point when the Greeks have just taken Troy’s outer ramparts. Paranoid delusions that it is being spied on would fit into such a mindset well—”
“But it
was
being spied on!” complained Judge-Not. “By a man who was too slow to get out of our way when we ran out of the catacombs. We didn’t see him before we ran into him, it was so dark. But it wasn’t Uncle Anchorite.”
The seven-person subset of the Reborn-in-Jesus household, huddled against a Penitentiary wall as cold, smart and hard as a financier, squinted into the goat-populated dark with eczematic trigger fingers, a thicket of laser and railgun barrels.
“Then it must have been
him,
Christmas,” said Shun-Company. “You had a lucky escape, Lord be praised. Oh, Judge-Not, why didn’t you come to us with this?”
Judge-Not stared out into a cold dark sky. “Beguiled figured you were in on Uncle Anchorite wiping out our parents. And we figured you’d be mad if you found out we were planning anything that would hurt him—”
“Sweetheart,” said Shun-Company, grabbing Judge-Not’s hand, “whatever made you think that?” She held his gaze like a maternal cobra. “Now, tell me—where are Sodom and Beguiled?”
Judge-Not glanced back towards the church and frowned. “Uh, Beguiled may still be in there—”
The detonation felt like a double-handed clap round the ears. Huge pieces of masonry crashed past the Penitentiary at unbelievable speeds. Mr. Reborn-in-Jesus watched a goat, caught in the open, liquefy as if skimmed through an invisible micro-fine grater. Even after the explosion, his ears continued to shriek like jet engines. Speech was impossible.