Doctor Who_ Set Piece - Kate Orman [7]
15
‘Did you keep any of his clothes, or personal effects?’
‘No. Yes, maybe. I’ll find out. If you reckon it’s important.’
They put the boy into a chair, an abbreviated version of the medical bench, built from slabs of plant tissue, fat seams at each edge where the pieces had grown together. There were thick, bony clasps for his wrists and ankles. It had been designed with humans in mind.
They pulled his head forward and installed the Leech on the back of his neck.
They switched on a computer screen. A geometric shape rotated on the screen: the patterns of the boy’s mind. It pulsed with strange, mathematical life.
‘The Leech,’ lectured Meijer, ‘stimulates each part of the brain in turn. It records the response, converts it, and passes it on to the computer. That way it gets not only memories, but also skills, thought patterns, sensory impressions.
When it’s finished, it severs the brainstem. Quick and painless. But of course, with Number 24, the process never reaches that stage.’
He activated the Leech. There was a gentle humming.
The boy went into spasms, biting his lips and tongue. He spat blood, his limbs smacking against the skin of the chair.
The shape on the screen flared with light, each part distorting and changing colour as his mind was ripped out a piece at a time.
It went on for fifteen minutes. The boy gave a final spasm and died. Blood and clear fluid trickled from his nose and ears. His head hung down on his chest. The hired hands dragged what was left of him out of the chair and wheeled it away.
Ms Cohen exited the processing room and returned to the laboratory.
Meijer found her there, pacing in tiny circles, fingernails plucking at her face. He put his arm around her, and she jerked away, stumbling backwards across the rough floor. ‘You’ve done that to him? Eighteen times? ’ she screamed, pointing at the figure on the bench.
‘It doesn’t last so long with him,’ said Meijer. ‘The thing barely gets started when he –’
‘Oh Jesus!’ said Ms Cohen. ‘Oh Jesus, I don’t think I can do this, I don’t think I can do this.’
Meijer’s hand came down on her shoulder and gripped, hard. ‘You better listen, lady. Either you get him in the chair and you get it to work, or you end up in there yourself.’ He shook her, not gently. ‘Understand? Do you understand?’
‘I’m going to throw up again.’
16
‘Understand. It’s him in there or it’s you. You’re just surviving, right, you’re just surviving!’
‘Oh Jesus. Don’t do it to me. Please. Please. Oh Jesus, please.’
Meijer shoved her towards the medical bench. ‘You’ll find a way.’
They put Number 24 in the chair and put the Leech on him. Ms Cohen turned it over in her hands first. It was a curved bit of vegetable matter with a few irregular bumps, innocuous, like a courgette. But there was circuitry etched on the inner side, and it felt warm. Alive.
It fit snugly along the base of 24’s neck. Ms Cohen thought she saw it move, settling into place.
The image of his mind on the screen was a seething fractal, twisting and curling in unexpected ways. An alien brain, an alien mind.
Meijer watched her watching the screen. ‘The Leech can handle just about any form of intelligence. It can scan his mind, it just can’t process it.’
Number 24 was staring into nothing again, his hands hanging limply over the arms of the chair. But she could see the tiny beads of sweat on his forehead, and she wondered if Meijer had guessed.
‘I’ll be sad to see this one go,’ said the hired hand, grabbing a handful of the subject’s hair. ‘He’s really brightened life up on this tub. Isn’t that right, Gingerbread?’ He gripped the man’s throat in his other hand, pressing his thumb into the windpipe until the sound of his breathing changed. ‘Been a while since we had a challenge.’
‘Meijer,’ said Ms Cohen. ‘Please let go of him.’
The hired hand straightened, looking at her with brute surprise. ‘What?’
‘I told you. We need him in the best possible physical condition.’ Her voice started to tremble. Meijer was staring at her again. ‘If