Perfect Flaw (9 page)

“Ah,” Rusch sighed, softly.

“What?” Black barked out.

“I see now,” Rusch nodded. “It makes more sense, but I don’t understand why you waited so long.”

“Waited?”

“To kill them,” Rusch pointed out, simply. “They betrayed you so you killed them.”

“They didn’t just betray me!” Black bit off through gritted teeth. “They took everything from me … you say that I dropped off the radar, all those years ago. That is what they did to me! When they realised what I had discovered, what I had invented, they saw the potential quicker than I did!”

“… and?”

“And by the time that I realised what they were doing,” Black sighed, “it was too late! They had taken my work and made it their own. They had spread rumours and lies to discredit me. They ruined me, they took everything that should have been mine and made it their own. They laughed at me!”

“And so you killed them,” Rusch repeated. “You were angry and you took your revenge; you killed them – but why wait so long? Why wait so many years?”

“Oh no,” Black laughed, suddenly. “You don’t understand. I killed them, yes, but not because I was angry – at least not just with them. I tried to get my life back, you see, I tried to convince people that they had taken everything from me but while they were being lauded and given the Noble Peace prize I was being laughed at and ridiculed … even now a moron like Deaver here knows their name but hasn’t got a clue who I am!”

“… why is that so funny?”

“Because this was never about killing Diane and Kline,” Black admitted, the colours on the image of his face showing the truth of his words. “This was about ensuring that my name is known - that it is never forgotten. You see there is something about the way that the Scanner reads the electro-magnetic energy of the human being that was overlooked by Diane and Kline, something that I have spent the last few years working on …”

“… what?”

“It is simple, really,” Black admitted, calmly. “The Scanner is nothing more than a glorified receiver and if something can receive information it can also transmit it – broadcast it, if you will.”

“You can’t …”

“Actually,” Black grinned, the scar on his temple pulsing, “I can. You see I implanted a chip, with an override code and a manufactured super-emotion, inside me that is capable of corrupting the system from the inside out. All I needed was access to the Scanner network itself … and what better way to ensure that I had all the time that I needed than by putting myself under its scrutiny and ensuring that the network was focused on me for the time that it needed to upload the virus and ensure that it couldn’t be stopped; and keeping you talking gave me that time.”

“… no,” Rusch breathed, flicking his hands across the sluggish and non-responsive screen.

“Killing Diane and Kline, while satisfying, was never an end goal; it was simply a means to an end,” Black stated. “For all these years the crime rate has fallen because technology read their emotions and kept them in check; now I am going to use that same technology - MY TECHNOLOGY –to send one, pure emotion across the infonet that connects every living, breathing person. To every receiver, every Scanner, every cell, every uplink … everything! I am going to make them feel what I feel every minute of every hour of every day; anger!”

“It will be chaos; anarchy!”

“I know ... you’ve become the peace-keepers of a sterile World, with my stolen technology but now – a thousand years after they last used the term – I’m going to remind the World what the word ‘Troubles’ really means.”

“Are you mad?” Rusch whispered, watching in horror as the readouts on the screen in front of him showed a burst of activity as millions of connections were made Worldwide.

Black didn’t answer; he didn’t need to. Before the infonet fell, and the Scanner went black for the final time, it showed his smiling face framed in the glowing blue of truth.

MICHAEL’S GATE

BY LESLIE J. ANDERSON

The hospital was stunningly white. The tile was white. The walls were painted white. Even the stretchers and equipment was made from white, enameled aluminum. On my first day the head nurse, Julia, explained that Michael’s Gate Hospital went to a lot of trouble to keep it this way, spotless and light, so that it always seemed clean and hopeful. She gestured around her as she gave me the tour and beamed at the whiteness. She was so proud to be there, and so was I.

I loved Julia. She had thin, pink lips that always smiled and large, almond colored eyes. She was always moving, sweeping in, then out of the office, hovering around patients like a humming bird, then zipping into the hallway, dancing around Doctor Clemens like he was the curtain of her stage. Sometimes though, when she slowed a moment in her dance, you could see how tired she was. She was older than me, maybe 30 or 35, but there were creases at the corner of her eyes and on her forehead that a young woman shouldn’t have yet, and she had a persistent cough that she tried and failed to hide. I wasn’t surprised. She had lived a hard life and she worked hard to stay in her new one, where everything was clean and full of hope.

Like me she was not a doctor, not even a nurse, she was one of the first Medical Assistants to receive her certification. We were trained and stationed by the Rising Angels Association, a group that recruited from the worst neighborhoods to find kind and intelligent women to care for a rapidly ageing population, mostly the people who could afford a place like Michael’s Gate. They came here to buy a little more health, a few more years, and a safe place to pass away. We were gophers. We carried, we tucked, we handed, we smiled and assured. We never looked at charts or knew full names.

We were trained in basic medical knowledge, given two starched uniforms, and sent to live in dorms at places like Michael’s Gate and Saint Francis and Our Lady of the City. We worked for our room and board and a few dollars more, which was always sent home to our families. No one even asked if I wanted to send my extra money to my family. There was simply a forwarding address on the sheet. Of course I filled it out.

And yes, we were proud to be Medical Assistants. When I was recruited I was 19, one of the few girls to graduate from high school. Most had children already. Most of the boys who graduated with me were fathers, headed off to the army or navy. There weren’t a lot of ways to move up in the world, so when Sister Sarah knocked on my door and asked my mother if I would be interested in the Rising Angels, she said yes. Of course she said yes. She would be proud to have her daughter wear a white uniform and walk down white hallways.

It was the month of May when things started to change. I woke up to the sound of the bell and a light rain against the window. The dorms where we lived were not white. They were pale blue and green, soft colors that reminded me of a child’s nursery from the magazines. Julia told me they once had bunk beds, but some of the ladies had trouble getting in and out of them. Now there were white army beds along both walls. Julia slept next to me, and sometimes we would talk before we slept, or when we got ready in the morning.

Every morning I pulled the wires from the port in my chest and the heart monitor made a little frantic beep, before realizing I was only getting up and hadn’t died, and going into sleep mode. The ports were an easy way for the hospital to pipe in our daily vitamins. Because most of us had grown up without proper nutrition they tried to make up for it at night. During the orientation, when the port was put in, Doctor Clemens explained that it was a necessity. They had given each Assistant a handful of pills, but it made them sick to their stomachs, so they did this instead. I was fine with it, though it was itchy.

I changed into my uniform and ate breakfast sitting on my bed. We walked in a line to the hospital, which was right next door. The two shared a wall. In the front door we pressed our hands to a scanner that flashed our names. We had our own entrance, just for us, our little white-uniformed parade. I went to check on my first patients, a distant, polite old heiress named Rose, and an army veteran named Stevens

“I feel so much better today.” Mrs. Rose said as I cleaned away her oatmeal. I smiled, but didn’t say anything. It was best not to talk while the doctor was in the room.

“Miss. Take away the other tray. Now, Mr. Stevens, is that arm improving?” Doctor Clemens said. He was a small man whose clothing was made to fit a younger, fitter body. He had small, wet eyes and short, mustard hair. His impatient authority filled the room like a gas.

“You bet doctor!” Mr. Stevens said.

Then something happened that had never happened before. The red alarm light above the bed sprang to brilliant life. A buzzing noise filled the room. The patients looked at me, confused, but I didn’t know what to tell them. There were never any emergencies here. The intercom, usually silent, crackled to life.

“Doctor Clemens, please come to Ms. Marie’s room immediately.”

The doctor pushed his clipboard into my hands and almost ran from the room. It made sense. Ms. Marie had paid for half the hospital, or so the rumors said. She was important, and any emergency involving her would be worth running for, and breaking protocol. I looked at the clipboard in my hands. We weren’t supposed to see the clipboards. We weren’t even supposed to handle them. I knew I should have just put it down or given it to Julia or something, but I was curious. I read some medical textbooks when I was a student, maybe I could make out something from the doctor’s notes. I slipped out of the room and went to the bathroom. It was empty, thank goodness. I ducked in a stall and leafed through the packet, my heart beating in my chest. I could read it! There was the heart rate, blood pressure, blood work.

It was all normal, perfectly normal. I looked at the next sheet. Mrs. Jeffers. All the same. Slightly elevated cholesterol. Slightly. But that was all. A few of them reported complaints upon arriving that, on the current sheets, had disappeared. They were all healthy. Why were they in a hospital? I would ask Julia. I was sure Julia would know.

I realized I left both trays in the room. The cooks expected them in the kitchen so they could clean them for lunch. I dropped the clipboard on Doctor Clemens’ desk and rushed into the room to grab the trays. Mr. Stevens looked up from his book and offered a worried smile.

“Jane,” he said softly, “how are you?”

“A little tired, actually.” I admitted, trying to cover my guilt. What I had done was very against the rules. “I guess I get worn out keeping up with you!” He laughed. I picked up his tray and scurried out.

I almost ran into Julia, coming out of Ms. Marie’s room. Miss Marie had two rooms actually, all to herself. She was Julia’s assignment and took up most of her time. She looked exhausted, and I knew she would always put Ms. Marie’s health before her own.

“Well good morning, Miss Julia.” I said, carefully, aware that whatever she left in Miss. Marie’s room must have been an emergency.

“Good morning, Miss Jane!” She answered, but it deteriorated into a cough.

“Please ask the doctor about that.” I frowned at her. “Is Miss Marie all right?”

“I don’t know.” Julia said. “Everything the Doctor says is gibberish to me. They want me to grab a defibrillator, though, just in case.” She coughed again.

“I need to talk to you.” I said and dropped my voice to a whisper. I had to get it over with. “I saw the patients charts and they’re not right.”

“Shhh!” She hissed at me. “You’re not supposed to do that!”

“I know! I’m sorry.”

She nodded as if I’d repented enough. “I have to get back quick. We’ll talk about it tonight, okay?” I nodded and she swept back to Miss Marie.

But she didn’t come back to the dorm with us. I waited up all night, fiddling with the itchy port. Finally she snuck in, closing the door quietly behind her. A few of the other girls murmured in their sleep.

“Julia!” I hissed at her.

“Shh!” She hissed again. “I am only here to change my uniform. I can’t stay.”

“What’s going on?”

“Ms. Marie isn’t recovering. Doctor Clemens told me if she doesn’t get better he’s going to try something highly experimental. He needs help so I’m going to go back.” She sounded almost excited as she buttoned her clean, white shirt.

“How are you going to get in? The scanner won’t let you.”

“The technician turned it off. I can get in. Now go to bed. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She coughed into her elbow then took a moment to ruffle my hair. I could see her white uniform glide past the beds and out the door. She turned the knob so the tongue wouldn’t make a noise as it closed.

The next morning I got up and disconnected my port. The machine beeped and then was quiet. I rubbed my eyes and groaned. I felt even more tired than I did when I went to sleep. I guess all the excitement from the night before got to me. As I stood up the door opened and one of the nurses walked in. Everyone froze. You would have thought a tiger had appeared in the door. It might as well have been. No one came to the dorms but us. She held the door open with one hand, as if she didn’t want to be completely in the room with us.

“Ladies,” she started, as if she had to get our attention. Her red uniform stood out like a spot of blood in the pale room. “I am here to inform you that Miss Julia passed away last night. The stress of caring for Miss Marie was too great and affected her heart. We have truly lost a great healer and our hearts go out to you. Those closest to Julia may take a day to grieve. Miss Jane?”

I looked up, surprised. “Yes?” I tried, but my throat had completely dried. I coughed and tried again. “Yes? I’m here.”

She turned her red attention to me. “You will be reassigned to Miss Marie, beginning today. That is all ladies, thank you.”

When the door closed the room began to move again. Any conversation was done in whispers. A few women cried. I did not follow them to get my breakfast. I slipped out and headed to work. What else could I do? Stay in my bed and cry all day? I couldn’t face it, though I kept running the words through my head. Surely Julia was just in the next building, somewhere in the hospital. It was a hospital after all! Couldn’t they save her?

The morning was cold and damp. The lawn, as always, was empty and well kept. The place had once been a public hospital and emergency room, but now the parking lot was mostly empty. No one really came or went. Those who were already here stayed here. The road was always empty too. No one lived out in the country anymore. They grouped together in the city, like bugs around a light, or at places like Michael’s Gate. It seemed like everyone was either very old or very young these days, either in the city or in the hospital.

I held my hand to the scanner inside the door. It beeped loudly, too loudly – a long, drawn out error message. I looked around nervously. My name flashed on the screen and I walked to Miss Marie’s room. I had to keep my mind busy. There was no way I could process the events of the morning. I couldn’t even begin to feel the things that filled up in my chest like tumors. I found the doctor inside. He was checking the machinery, and didn’t look at me when I came in.

“You gave us quite a scare.” He said to Miss Marie, his voice glowing, like a favorite son. “We haven’t had something like that happen in a long time! I think everything’s under control now.

Her room was bigger than my past patients’, but fairly similar. Still there was an extra bed, just in case of overflow, all set up with IV and port and all the other machines. There were tall, clear glass vases full of flowers on the window. I wondered if Julia died here, maybe passing out on the floor, and the thought made my body ache from my chest to my spine. I put a smile on my face and picked up Miss Marie’s food tray.

She smiled at me, a tiny woman with the faintest cloud of white hair. I could see the veins under her thin skin. “I feel so much better today.” She said.

“That’s wonderful.” I answered.

And life went on. I fell into my new routine. My workload was much lighter with only one patient, but life seemed to wear me down faster without Julia. I felt tired and depressed. I developed her cough, as if I missed the sound of it. I lost track of time. I no longer dreamt of a life beyond Michael’s Gate. For my short breaks I drank coffee in the Nurse’s room, alone, and thought nothing at all. A new Medical Assistant came, Jessie, to fill Julia’s bed. She seemed so young, I tried to help her where I could. She told us about her son, his father dead in the War. What choice did she have? The little money she sent home might even get him through school. She came up to me one afternoon, during my break.

“Jane? I thought you might want to know. Mr. Stevens is checking out today. I thought you might want to say good bye.”

“Oh. Thank you.” I said, forced a smile, and walked past her.

I found him standing by the door, a box of his belongings in his hands, reading the plaques beside the door.

“Mr. Stevens.” I called out and he turned to smile at me. “I am so sad to see you go.”

He scoffed. “I bet you are.”

I held my smile. “I can understand why you’d want to leave. Everyone was so shocked by Julia’s death.”

“Oh I’m not shocked by death.” He said, smiling a little. “I fought in the War, you know, before my uncle made his fortune and I came home to work with him. No, death is just the thing that happens at the end of life.”

“Well you’re a lot tougher than me.” I felt a frown pull at the edge of my practices smile, but the smile remained

“Death doesn’t do a thing to you, Miss Jane. Life. Life is what wears you down. Life makes you old and tired. Life continues on when your teachers, your parents, and finally your colleagues and friends die.”

He walked over to me, his cane making a dull, thunking noise on the clean floor. He put a hand on my shoulder. “I am sorry about Julia.” He said. “I really am. She was a good girl. She didn’t deserve that.” He looked at me as if he might say more. He looked at me like he was seeing me, completely, for the first time. He licked his lips and frowned. “You be safe,” was all he said, and turned to walk out the front door.