Castle War

Nine Hospital

He woke up in a hospital bed. At least it looked like one. Wires connected him to beeping machines and tubes ran into his veins. A single white sheet draped him.

He looked around. The room was windowless but bright, and was otherwise featureless, except for a slogan on the far wall.

“Sounds pretty kinky to me,” he said, trying to sit up. He was thirsty, and there was a pitcher and a glass on a small table nearby.

While he was pouring, a young man in a white coat came in carrying a small device with a screen. He was short and had a receding chin.

“You’re up!”

Gene took a long drink, then sat back. “Yup. What was it? Knockout gas?”

“What was what?” the man said, punching the keyboard on his device.

“Never mind. What am I doing here?”

“Oh, we’ve taken a good look at you. Ran some tests.”

“I’ll bet. And?”

The man looked up. “And?”

“What did you find?”

“Nothing much. You’re in perfect health physically. Mentally, fine. Spiritually, not so good, though.”

“Oh? What’s wrong in that department?”

“You don’t have InnerVoice.”

“I see. What’s that?”

“A guide to right behavior. Nothing more than that.”

“And I don’t have it.”

“Didn’t have it. We corrected that.”

“Oh, good.”

The man stepped to the machines and noted readings, entering them into the device.

“Is that standard procedure when you find someone without this inner voice stuff?”

“Pretty much.”

“I see. What did the police say about me?”

“Police?”

“I was brought here by the police, wasn’t I?”

“No, you were referred to us by the Citizens’ Committee on Solidarity.”

“Uh-huh. Not the police.”

“There are no ‘police,’ citizen. That’s a very old-fashioned concept.”

“No police?”

“They’re not needed.”

“Who were the guy and gal with the guns who brought me in?”

“Well, it sounds like you were picked up by the Citizens’ Committee for Constant Struggle.”

“You mean the army?”

“More or less.”

“You don’t need police, but you do need the army.”

“When the whole world has InnerVoice, then there won’t be any need for constant struggle.”

“Ohhh, I see. It’s all so clear now.”

The man smiled. “It will be. Hungry?”

“No. Actually I have a date for lunch. So, if you’ll get these tubes out of my lymph nodes — ”

“You can’t leave.”

“No? Is the Citizens’ Committee for Constant Struggle outside the door?”

The man shook his head.

“Are you going to stop me?”

He shook his head again.

“Right.”

Gene began yanking off tubes and wires.

“You’re not allowed to do that,” the man said.

“You seem like a nice enough guy, but up yours.”

The white-coated man shrugged. “It’s useless. You have InnerVoice.”

“I’m hearing exactly nothing, pal.”

“It might take a while for the systems to establish themselves.”

“Sorry, I can’t wait.”

Wincing, Gene plucked the needle-end of a tube out of his wrist and cast it aside. Blood welled from the hole, and he stanched the bleeding with a sheet. The flow stopped quickly enough, and he got unsteadily out of bed. He was naked.

“I suppose it wouldn’t do any good to ask for my clothes.”

“They may be in the storage closet near the unit station.”

“Thanks.”

Gene left the room. The hall outside looked like a conventional hospital floor but most of the rooms were unoccupied. He saw the unit station, a glassed-in office with monitoring instruments. Two female nurses sat inside. They looked up in surprise when he appeared.

“Excuse me, ladies,” he said.

He tried a narrow door and found a broom closet. A door across the hall proved to be a room with metal shelves holding a number of boxes. He rummaged in these and found his clothes. He got dressed in a hurry.

He peered out of the storage room. The nurses had gone back to whatever it was they were doing. Neither of them looked to be making frantic phone calls or sending out alarms. He left the room and walked down the corridor, keeping close to the wall.

He reached the entrance to a stairwell and entered.

It hit him at the top of the steps. First it was just a strange feeling, turning quickly to low-grade nausea. As he went down the stairs, anxiety welled up. It was instant and all-consuming. Stunned, he collapsed on the landing, shaking and sweating.

He remained there for several minutes, totally immobilized, the walls closing in, nameless terrors chewing at him.

At length he was able to climb back up the stairs. He staggered back to the room and collapsed on the bed.

After a while he became aware that someone had entered the room. He turned over and sat up. It was the doctor — or was he just a technician? — and a woman dressed in a shapeless gray suit.

“Hello,” the woman said brightly. “How are you feeling?” She wore no makeup and had lines at the corners of her gray eyes. Her salt-and-pepper hair was drawn up into a bun.

“What kind of drug is it?” he asked.

“We didn’t give you any drugs,” the doctor said.

“You have InnerVoice,” the woman said. “It tells you when you’re doing something wrong.”

“What was I doing wrong?”

“You were leaving against medical advice,” the woman said. She smiled again. “I’m from the Citizens’ Committee for Social Improvement, Orientation Subcommittee. My cognomen is M-D-E-T-F-G. My omnicode is one-dash-seven-oh-nine-oh-six-three-one-two-eight.”

“Don’t you have a name?”

“You can call me M-1.”

“Mine’s B-7,” the medic said.

The woman read from a small recording device: “And your cognomen is B-K-F-V-G-D. Your omnicode is — ”

He waved her silent. “Never mind. Just tell me what you did to me. What is InnerVoice?”

“It’s a guide to behavior. It tells you — ”

“I know that. What is it?”

“Can you explain it to him, B-7?”

“Sure. When I said we didn’t give you any drugs, I was telling the truth. What we did inject you with was a solution, but in that solution were tiny little machines.”

“Machines?”

“Call them computers, that’s what they are, in part. Some of them are no bigger than a bacterium, and most of them are smaller. They’re constructed at a very small level of magnitude, the molecular level. Instead of electronic parts, they have protein parts, enzyme parts. Biological parts. But they’re computers all the same.”

“What do they do?”

“Lots of things. But mainly they monitor things in your blood and lymph. Watch your emotional states, look for telltale chemical signs.”

Gene said, “Signs of what?”

“Well, for instance, when you do something that you shouldn’t be doing, your body reacts in certain ways. It changes chemically and electrically. When the monitoring machines detect these changes, they send signals to your glands to secrete certain things. They also send signals to the brain.”

“I understand,” Gene said. “So, if I don’t do what I’m told, this automatic punishment system goes on-line.”

“Oh, it’s not punishment. It’s your own body’s shame and guilt for doing the socially unacceptable thing. The reactions are just amplified, that’s all.”

“Oh, yes. I got that much.”

“If you didn’t feel any shame or guilt, InnerVoice couldn’t affect you.”

“I feel absolutely no shame or guilt, friend. Stop bullshitting.”

“Of course you feel it. You have to. You had the reaction, didn’t you? InnerVoice was speaking to you.”

Gene had no answer.

“It will take time,” M-1 said. “You’ll get used to it. In time, InnerVoice won’t need to guide you at all. You’ll guide yourself.”

“I bet I will, if I know what’s good for me.”

She grinned expansively. “You’re learning already! I’m so pleased. It will make my job so much easier!”

“Yeah. Glad to oblige.”