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"You look terrible." How could such a change come over a person in three days? Number 6, who thought he had witnessed the spectrum of abuses the Village could inflict on a person, was nonetheless shocked by Number 9's appearance. There wasn't a mark on her, but the physical transformation of her petite form was as profound as if she had been beaten to the point of disfigurement. "How sweet of you to say. Can I come in?" Her voice, while hoarse, was tinged with acid. At least, Number 6 thought with relief, some of her former spark survived within the fragile container that limped carefully through the open door of his cottage. He noticed that her eyes darted constantly while she moved, as if looking for concealed obstacles, and had acquired a permanent wary squint. She carried herself with the exaggerated delicacy of the infirm. At the first opportunity she reached out and grabbed the nearest solid object to support herself. When she turned slowly to face him he saw the unhealthy pallor of her skin, the minute, unconscious trembling of her lower lip. Her shoulders were stooped, her posture indifferent, even after she made a visible effort to stand straight. "It hurts a little to smile," she informed him, "but take my word that I am glad to see you." He was staring at her afflicted body as if she were a laboratory specimen. "What happened to you?" he asked, his voice gruff with concern and confusion. "Where have you been?" "Look at this," she said absently, ignoring his questions. She held up one hand, which shook as if tied to marionette strings. "A side effect of the seizures." "Seizures," Number 6 repeated. "What seizures?" Number 9 sank to a chair with a sigh. "It took me twenty minutes to walk over here today, you know," she said. "The other day it took less than five. Old people were racing past me." She looked at him seriously. "Can you get epilepsy from the water supply?" "I wouldn't put anything past them," Number 6 muttered. "When did the seizures begin?" "The morning after our last meeting," she said. "After we found poor Number...what was it? It's a little hard to think straight." Number 9 shook her head as if to clear it, then winced in pain. "I had a pretty good night's sleep, considering the day I'd had. I wanted to come over here. So many questions. Why? That was the main one. The only one that matters, I suppose. Not what the Village is, not how they do the things they do. But why? I just can't figure it out." "Greater minds than yours have tried and failed," Number 6 said quietly. He was beginning to sense the reason behind this particular ploy by the Village Masters, however, and felt a familiar flame of anger inside him. Number 9 continued wearily, "I was going to come see you, to ask you... But as I was about to leave my room, I collapsed. I felt the most intense pain, all over my body. I thought I would die of the pain alone. Then it went away, as suddenly as it began. But I was weak as a kitten. I couldn't even get up. I just lay on the floor where I'd dropped for the rest of the day. I slept for hours, and when I woke up I was fine. She took several deep breaths, as if the effort of speaking exhausted her. Number 6 waited in silence as seconds passed. At length she resumed her story. "I've been having these...attacks ever since. They're not all the same. Some are small - like getting a stitch in your side. Some are huge. I thought I was having a heart attack once. Another time it felt like a blow to the head with a meat cleaver. Every time I've had less and less strength afterwards. Now, whenever a muscle twitches or my nose tickles, I'm afraid I'm having another one. It's kind of draining." She looked at him. "That's irony. As I said, it hurts to smile." "How often do they occur?" Number 6 asked urgently. "It varies," she said. "After the first one, I didn't have another all day. Yesterday - was it yesterday? - I had three within an hour. Totally unpredictable. I finally forced myself to come here because I was afraid to face them by myself any more. I hope you don't mind." Before he could respond, Number 9's face, already a mask of misery, suddenly froze. Her body convulsed, and a cry of agony escaped her gaping mouth. She shuddered explosively, as if invisible electric wires had abruptly sent lethal voltage through her defenceless limbs. The assault continued for several seconds, then ended with the abruptness of a switch being thrown. Number 6 watched helplessly as she slumped to the floor. The only movement in her huddled form was the shallow rise and fall of her breathing. He bent over her and felt for a pulse; it was rapid and thready, but already stabilizing. Consciousness came to her in a series of lapping waves. Finally her eyes fluttered open and stayed open long enough to fix on his, floating above. The look of despair on her face was more than Number 6 could stand. He crossed the room and barked a number into the telephone. "I'm calling a truce," he snapped. "Whatever you're doing, stop it now. You know damn well what I'm talking about. Call it off, and I'll listen to whatever you have to say. You heard me. I'll be right there." He slammed the receiver down, and only with an effort of will restrained himself from hurling the entire phone across the room. "Don't leave me alone," Number 9 said weakly. She had pulled herself to a sitting position on the floor but seemed unable to stand. "You'll be fine." The rage drained from his voice as she reacted with apprehension to his brusque words. "They've cast their lure, and the fish has responded to the bait. Nothing will happen to you here. You have my word." He reached out tentatively and brushed a tear from the corner of her eye. She smiled, despite the pain it caused. "Stay here," he told her. "Don't leave this house." "That shouldn't be a problem," she said gravely.  The image of Number 9's agony burned in his mind all the way to the Green Dome. His sharp knock was answered at once by the silent, diminutive Butler who guarded Number 2's door. Number 2 himself was waiting serenely in his chamber. "My dear chap," he greeted Number 6. "You sounded quite upset when you called." "I should leap across that desk and strangle you with your own scarf," the Prisoner growled. "What do you think you're doing?" "That's not much of a bargaining position to start from," Number 2 chided him. "There will be no bargaining," Number 6 said, beginning to pace. "You will stop inflicting torture on Number 9, whatever you're doing, however you're doing it. And you'll tell me the reason behind this transparent plot you've hatched to use her to get to me. "Yes, I'll tell you, and you'll listen," Number 2 said agreeably, "and you'll tell me to go to hell, as you've done so many times before. Why should this time be any different?" He stood and walked around the console. "Except that it is different, Number 6. This time, it is." Number 6 stopped his restless pacing and glared at the broad-shouldered bureaucrat who stood before him. "How?" he demanded. "From now on, my dear chap, everything is going to be different." The hearty, booming voice of Number 2 had dropped to a tone of cold command. "Because of this." A moment later Number 6 fell to his knees, clutching his head as waves of pain slammed into his skull. From within the throes of agony he summoned a memory of the unauthorized scan that had left his hand burned and blistered days earlier. That had felt like this, but where was it coming from now? Was this what had been happening to Number 9, over and over again? How had she withstood it? Answers were impossible while in the excruciating grip of the assault. He had no way to combat the pain, but just as he felt consciousness begin to slip away from him, the pain ended. His strength left him at the same instant, and he struggled to keep from collapsing at the feet of Number 2. When he finally, shakily pulled himself to a standing position, Number 2 was looking at him with the same serene expression. "Your friend Number 9 is a remarkable woman," he said. "Three days of attacks like that, and she's still ambulatory. She has reserves of strength I never dreamed of. It's a shame she has to die." At first Number 6 appeared not to have heard. His eyes were muddy and unfocused. He blinked them furiously to clear his head. "What did you say?" he grunted. "Number 9 will be liquidated soon," Number 2 said without emotion. "I can't budge on that one, sorry. My orders are quite explicit. Already supposed to have happened, actually. I've stuck my neck out just to keep her around this long." "Why?" "All in good time," Number 2 replied. "Don't you want to know how I..." He gestured toward Number 6, who was still unsteady on his feet from the invisible onslaught. "If you think I'm going to crack just because you've discovered some new instrument of torture," he said, "think again. You were right: I am going to tell you to go to hell." "Oh, I know," Number 2 nodded. "You'd let us kill you before you cooperated. But I can't do that." He took a step backward and reached for something behind his desk. It was a calibration scanner. Number 6 eyed it warily. "Do you happen to know what your status is?" Number 6 smiled faintly. "Orange," he said. "What does it mean?" "It means 'preserve at all costs'," Number 2 said with something like admiration in his voice. "An extremely rare designation in the Village. But don't get a swelled head: There are no other special perquisites attached to it. "Imagine my disappointment," Number 6 said dryly. "So what?" "So I could hound you literally to your grave, and you'd only take your secrets with you, and I would have severely compromised my own career prospects needlessly," said Number 2, fiddling carelessly with the buttons on the scanner. "Number 240's status," he continued, "was green. 'Expendable at our discretion.' There are many, many status green citizens in the Village. Most of them very nice people, and some quite useful, even, but in the end just more mouths to feed. "And poor Number 9's status is blue. 'Designated for liquidation.' She doesn't really know anything that could be of use to us...or our enemies. She wouldn't even be here if she hadn't - " Number 2 waved his free hand dismissively. "Well, that couldn't possibly be of interest to you." Number 6 said nothing. "In any case," Number 2 said with a shrug, "she has served one useful purpose in her short stay with us. She has a personality and a temperament that I judged - correctly - to be likely to arouse your sympathies. That has allowed me to stage a rather elaborate demonstration, which has been successful, and to offer you a proposition, which I hope will be equally so."  "What is that thing?" Number 6 interjected, indicating the calibration scanner with a contemptuous nod. "This is a scanner for reading electronic data encoding at a cellular level," Number 2 said, unperturbed by the interruption. "Everyone in the Village has been encoded and entered into a master database. It'll save us mountains of paperwork. No more credit cards, no more bulky paper files on individual citizens. I thought you knew that." "A deadly weapon in the wrong hands," Number 6 observed, holding up his bandaged right hand. Number 2 chuckled. "Not unless you hit someone in the head with it. Sorry, Number 6; your little mishap with one of these devices was just a clever illusion. I didn't want to tip my hand too soon. The device had nothing to do with it. All part of the demonstration I was telling you about." "Get on with it, then," Number 6 said impatiently. "Very well. At the time you, Number 9 and, incidentally, Number 240 were encoded in your sleep, you - and you three only - were also implanted with an experimental receptor. Very tiny, very sophisticated. It resides in your wrist, just beneath the skin near your pulse point. At a signal from a special transmitter, it can stimulate your neural pathways to trigger a wide variety of pain responses - from mild abdominal cramps to cranial seizures." A cold blue gleam of understanding dawned in Number 6's eyes. "With yourself at the controls, I suppose?" "During the experimental phase, yes. Had to make sure the devices work as designed. But the Supervisors will be trained in their use, as well. After all, they will be administering the next phase of the project on a daily basis." "And just what is that?" Number 6 asked. "The Village is streamlining, my dear chap," the Chief Bureaucrat explained. "Even we are not free from budgetary constraints and concerns over efficiency. Got to run a tight ship, you know. Operation Status Check will help us to achieve that goal...for the good of everyone in the Village, of course." "Of course," Number 6 said dryly. Number 2 continued, "The operation consists of two phases. The first was encoding every citizen. Even I have been encoded." "Status green?" The Prisoner's tone was mocking. Number 2 smiled indulgently and ignored the question. "The second phase will involve implanting every citizen with the special receptor I've told you about. This will allow us to take therapeutic measures when necessary with extraordinary precision on an individualized basis." "Beautifully put." "Thank you." Number 2 had resumed his paternal air. "Once everybody is carrying what we call the Phase 2 device, we can achieve our final objective." "Which is?" The effects of the neural assault on Number 6 were dissipating, but the memory of searing pain lingered. He recognized the potential of such a tool in the Village, and it sickened him to think how his captors might put it to use. Still, Number 2's next words took him by surprise. "To deactivate the Rover system." "Oh?" Number 6 kept his voice carefully neutral. Number 2 tossed the calibration scanner casually onto the console. "Surprised, Number 6? You've experienced for yourself what the receptor can do. Its effects are less showy than Rover's ministrations, granted, but the results are remarkably similar. And with every citizen implanted with the device, there's no need to dispatch a guardian after every infraction. The touch of a button, and..." He trailed off, a look of satisfaction on his rugged features. Silence descended on the chamber as Number 6 mulled over this unexpected twist. His mind was reeling with all that Number 2 had told him: about Number 9, about the despicable surgical procedure that had been performed on her, and on himself, while they slept, about the "experiment" that had produced such agony in both of them. His hatred of the Village reached new heights. He fought an impulse to tear open his own wrist and remove the wretched Phase 2 device...and then perform the same operation on Number 2's throat. It would accomplish nothing. They'd only send in a replacement to wear the badge, and Operation Status Check would proceed as planned. He stared impassively at Number 2 and forced himself to speak lightly. "Did Rover receive a negative performance review?" Number 2's grin was soulless. "It's an expensive system to maintain," he said. 
"Requires a lot of resources to keep it going, and does not provide infallible performance in return. In short, Rover is simply not as efficient as point-of-origin neural discipline." "What is Rover?" Number 6 asked, and got only a condescending smile in return. He doesn't know...or he's afraid to say. "So Rover is going to be fired, laid off, made redundant...what is the proper term?" "Deactivated," Number 2 said flatly. "For the good of the Village." "Yes, I hadn't forgotten," Number 6 snapped. "What about Number 9?" "Ah, yes," Number 2 nodded, "that brings us back to the proposition I mentioned." He returned to his command chair and pressed a button on the console. On the huge viewscreen that covered one wall of the chamber, the image of Number 6's living room appeared. Number 9 was still there. She had settled herself awkwardly in a chair and sat motionless, her narrow shoulders bowed. Very little remained of the defiant, confident individual Number 6 had seen on the beach her first day in the Village. He shot a glance at Number 2, who was watching the screen with clinical fascination. "Observe, Number 6." With the touch of another button Number 9 was wracked with paroxysms of pain. She clung to the chair in an effort to withstand the latest assault, but the expression on her pale face was one of surrender. Before Number 6 could cry out in protest, Number 2 voluntarily lifted his finger from the panel. The pathetic image of Number 9 remained on the screen, but he turned away from it indifferently. "I'll kill you if you do that again," Number 6 said matter-of-factly. "Do stop being sentimental and listen to me." Number 2's voice was smooth and brutal. "Number 6, the time has come for you to co-operate with us." "My 'co-operation' for her life?" He spit out the words. Number 2 shook his head impatiently. "Number 9 is going to die. Period. Forget about her. She has served her purpose as a demonstration, and it's time to move on. You see, in a matter of days, Number 6, every man, woman and child in the Village will be implanted with the same device she is carrying." The significance of the words hung in the air between them like a poisonous vapour. "So now it's down to simple blackmail?" Number 6 said in a low, hate-filled voice. "Your sense of melodrama never fails you, does it? From my perspective, it's simply a vaccination program. Immunizing you from future urges to disrupt the Village. Booster shots to be administered as needed." "To innocent people." Number 2 waved off the comment as if it bored him. "This is all part of the master plan?" "Actually, I call this part of the plan phase 2a, and it's my idea," said Number 2 with a trace of pride. "I think I can succeed in, er, converting you where my predecessors have failed. Rather brilliant, if I say so. After all, you don't want the entire Village to suffer for your obstinacy, do you?" "You don't need these bloody devices to inflict pain on people," Number 6 said harshly. "Why should I respond to your scare tactics just because you've found a new toy?" "It's a matter of scale," Number 2 replied with a smile. "Scale and efficiency. Despite what you may believe, we never could be everywhere at once." He leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers in front of him. "Now we can." Number 6 began to respond, but Number 2 cut him off. "Perhaps I was wrong to term this a proposition. You seem to have taken it to mean you have some room for argument, or choice, in the matter. The facts are these. The implantation phase begins next week. Once the first of your fellow citizens is under our neural control, any subterfuge or lack of complicity on your part will result in swift, physical reprisals on your neighbours. They will suffer, just as you've seen Number 9 suffer." He pointed toward the double doors of the chamber. "That will be all, Number 6. Go home and think about it, or don't. I don't care. This time, there's nothing you can do." |
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