Doctor Who_ Cat's Cradle_ Warhead - Andrew Cartmel [35]
‘Daddy says that we live in our thoughts,’ said the little boy, speaking slowly. ‘We have arms and legs and bodies. But really it’s all up here.’ He touched his head, small fingers in his fine pale hair. ‘So it doesn’t matter if our arms and legs and bodies die, just so long as we can make our thoughts stay alive. And Daddy says that our thoughts are just patterns in our heads. And that we can copy those patterns, just the way I sampled Jack Blood off the television.’
‘Giving me quite a shock, too, I can tell you,’ said O’Hara, chuckling. Stephanie and Mulwray both laughed immediately. Stephanie opened her mouth but Mulwray was already speaking. ‘Clever kid,’ he said.
‘That’s very good, Patrick,’ said O’Hara. ‘Go on.’
The little boy shifted awkwardly, embarrassed by the attention and the praise. ‘Daddy says we’ll copy the patterns into computers. The patterns of our thoughts. Then our thoughts will be alive on the computers. And the computers will last forever. And we’ll live inside them. It won’t matter what the world is like outside. What the pol‐pol–’
‘Pollution.’
‘It won’t matter what the pollution is like, or the oh‐zone layer or anything. Because we’ll be safe inside machines.’ The boy wrinkled his forehead. ‘No,’ he said, slowly. ‘That’s not right exactly. We aren’t just going to be inside the machines. We are going to be the machines.’
‘What a smart little guy!’ said Mulwray, again getting there a fraction of a second before Stephanie.
‘But our bodies will be dead, though,’ said Patrick. For the first time he looked at his father with something like uncertainty. For a second there was silence. Stephanie could see that Mulwray was trying, but he couldn’t think of anything to say.
She made her move.
She slid across the couch, moving her body against O’Hara’s, reaching across him and picking up the little boy before anyone could protest.
She swung Patrick up in her arms. The boy was a lot heavier than she’d imagined and she could feel him stiffening in her grasp, reacting to her uncertainty. Stephanie pushed her shoulders back, taking the weight of the little boy on her breasts, his head beside her face. As she adjusted her grip the boy relaxed and Stephanie felt a flash of triumph. ‘You are a smart little guy. Very, very smart,’ she said, holding him tight and carefully resting his small head on her shoulder. She turned around, carrying the little boy with confidence now, and looked at Mulwray sitting in his armchair. He wasn’t saying anything. Stephanie squeezed the little boy tight. She’d read that children liked to be hugged and touched a lot.
‘Brave, too,’ said O’Hara. He’d got up from the couch and now leant over, ruffling the little boy’s hair. Stephanie felt a flush of triumph. To touch his son O’Hara had to stand close to her, almost touching. She turned so that the boy was face to face with his father. They were like a media image of a healthy, beautiful family. ‘Big and brave,’ said O’Hara, tousling Patrick’s hair. ‘Tell Stephanie the rest of it.’
‘There’s more?’ said Stephanie, looking at the little boy with mock wonder. The boy said nothing and the living room was silent. The distant sound of machinery could be heard through the picture window, beyond the trees, down at the excavation site.
‘The next part of our project involves kids. And you’ll never guess what,’ said O’Hara softly. Now Mulwray’s head snapped up and he looked at O’Hara. He made a sound as if he was about to say something but he remained silent.
‘Patrick’s volunteered for the experiment,’ said O’Hara.
‘Way to go, little guy!’ said Stephanie. She aimed her widest, whitest, most stunning smile at the little boy but he was looking thoughtfully at his father. ‘A little guy with lots of guts,’ she said.
Mulwray had got out of his armchair and he was standing up now, looking at them. The boy looked at Stephanie, then over at Mulwray. The boy and the man stared across the room at each other for a moment and then Mulwray abruptly turned and walked out.