Perilous_Hive Mind Page 3

  The telepath spoke in a weird, throbbing voice. “There’s no need to be afraid, Amber.”

  Chapter Three

  The telepath knew my name and that I was scared! Well, of course the telepath would know those things. People called the telepaths nosies because they nosed around in your thoughts, prying through all your secrets, and this nosy was reading my mind right now.

  “You’re injured, but you will get medical treatment very soon, Amber,” said the nosy. “You’re nervous of my presence, but I am here to protect you and all loyal members of the Hive.”

  I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t even breathe. I’d seen telepath squads hundreds of times before when I was travelling through the Hive. Whenever possible, I’d changed my route to escape them. Sometimes I’d been unlucky enough to be riding on the belt system or the moving stairs and be carried close by one of them. There’d been a few occasions when I’d been waiting for a lift, the doors had opened, I’d seen a telepath squad already inside it, and practically run away in terror.

  There’d only been one occasion when I was in a lift and a telepath squad entered it. I’d thought it was the ultimate horror when I had to brush close past the nosy to escape through the open lift doors, but this was far worse. I was strapped down on a stretcher, powerless to escape, with the nosy looking down at me and studying my thoughts.

  I was deeply relieved when the nosy turned away from me and looked at Barnard instead. “Only criminals and those who plan to harm others have any reason to fear telepaths,” she said.

  Barnard instantly took two steps backwards and collided with the lift wall. I thought he was just suffering from the same horror of nosies as me, but then he started gabbling defensively.

  “I admit I’m angry about my girlfriend dumping me, but that’s natural in the circumstances. I may have gone as far as imagining doing a few things to her and her new boyfriend, but that was nothing more than fantasy.”

  The nosy studied Barnard for a moment before speaking. “This has already gone further than imagination.”

  “I called her a couple of times,” said Barnard. “Pushed a note or two under her door. I wouldn’t have hurt either of them though. I won’t hurt either of them.”

  “It’s true that you won’t hurt either of them,” said the nosy. “You won’t be allowed to harm anyone now that I’ve seen the images in your mind. I know what you’ve already done and what you planned to do in the future. You are now under arrest for intention to injure others.”

  “You don’t need to arrest me,” said Barnard. “I won’t go anywhere near either of them. Not ever again. I promise.”

  “We will accompany you while you take Amber to the medical facility for treatment,” said the nosy. “We will then escort you to a Health and Safety Unit for a full assessment and a decision on appropriate corrective treatment.”

  There was dead silence until the lift doors opened again on Level 93, and we moved out into a corridor. I held on to the sides of my stretcher, my knuckles white with tension. How far would we have to travel to reach the medical facility? How long would I have to endure a grey-clad nosy prying through my thoughts?

  I told myself the nosy wasn’t interested in me. She’d obviously caught Barnard thinking of harming his ex-girlfriend, and brought her squad into the lift to intercept him. The nosy would surely have her attention focused on Barnard’s mind, not mine, but I still tried to think dutiful thoughts.

  It was good that the telepaths patrolled our Hive, preventing people like Barnard from hurting anyone. It was good that they stopped anyone from stealing property or damaging the Hive. It was good that I could go anywhere I wanted in total safety. Naturally the telepaths had to read the minds of innocent people like me as part of the process of preventing criminals from committing crimes. That was unfortunate, but I was sure they kept such intrusions to the bare minimum.

  I wasn’t convincing myself, so I doubted I was convincing the nosy, but she didn’t say a word as we headed along a corridor lined with apartment doors. I noticed the distance between those doors was far smaller than between the doors of apartments where my parents lived on Level 27. My parents lived on a corridor with family sized apartments though, and these might be the apartments of single people.

  A door ahead of us opened, a laughing man stepped out, and the nosy stopped and turned to gaze at him in silence. The man’s laughter broke off, his face registered alarm, and he scurried back into his apartment. The nosy started walking again, and we moved on to where the corridor ended in an open area. There were the entrances to two more corridors, some wall murals showing park scenes, and double doors marked with the red symbol of a medical facility.

  We went through the doors into a reception area. Uniformed medical staff, and a scattering of waiting people who must be other patients, all turned to look at the telepath squad in horror. The nosy said nothing, just turned and walked out of the door again, followed by the hasties and Barnard.

  The receptionist came hurrying over to me. “Why did that telepath squad come in here?”

  “They came to arrest the paramedic because he was planning to hurt someone. They let him bring me here before they took him away for corrective treatment.”

  “Oh.” The receptionist stared across at the double doors. “I wonder if I need to tell anyone about the paramedic being arrested, or if the telepath squad will do that?”

  “I don’t know, and I don’t care.” I’d forced myself to lie still on my stretcher in the presence of the telepath, but now I lost control. I started tugging at the strap across my chest, trying to free myself.

  “Please don’t do that,” said the receptionist. “I understand you’ve had a stressful time, and I promise we’ll get you off the stretcher in just a moment.”

  She peered at the bracelet on my wrist. “Amber 2514-0172-912. Yes, we’ve been expecting your arrival.”

  She waved her arm, and a woman in white overalls towed my stretcher down the corridor to a small room labelled “Treatment 4”. The stretcher lined up beside the single white bed, the woman undid the straps imprisoning me, and the stretcher slid me neatly across onto the bed.

  “A doctor will be with you shortly.” The woman went out of the door, taking the stretcher with her.

  I was free from the straps. The telepath squad must be far away by now. The tablets I’d been given had stopped my head hurting. I closed my eyes, and tried to relax, but couldn’t. The feel of a solid bed under me, rather than a proper sleep field, was an unpleasant reminder that I wasn’t in my own room but in a strange place on Level 93.

  Why had I been sent to Level 93 for treatment? Was it a warning omen for my future Lottery result? Forge was an accomplished athlete, and Shanna could make startlingly creative clothes from the cheapest possible materials, but I’d tried all the activity sessions offered at our nearest community centre without discovering I had a talent for any of them. The only time I’d been given one of the coveted gold cards that entitled someone to attend advanced sessions in an activity was for my swimming, and I knew I didn’t have the height or build for Lottery to make me a professional swimmer.

  The harsh truth was that Lottery would be sending Forge and Shanna up the Hive – they might even end up in the elite top ten levels – while I’d be going down. People said I was reasonably bright, so there was still hope I’d be assigned to something like Level 60 work, but I should face the fact I could end up here on Level 93.

  I opened my eyes again and studied the room. The white walls were a little battered, the ceiling was cracked, and the overhead scanning grid looked like an elderly model, but it was still better than the average medical room on Teen Level. The patients in the waiting room had been cheaply dressed, but again their clothes were better than my own tunic and leggings.

  I remembered Atticus’s comment about how everyone’s living standards would improve when they came out of Lottery. What I’d seen so far on Level 93 seemed to confirm that was true. The har
dest thing about coming out of Lottery as a Level 93 worker wouldn’t be my living conditions, but knowing I’d be a disappointment to my mother and father.

  I knew that I’d never see any of my teen friends again after Lottery. Its verdicts would divide us forever, scattering us across the hundred accommodation levels of the Hive. We’d been taught to accept that final break rather than struggle to keep friendships going against the barrier of a five, ten or even fifty level division.

  Family ties were different. The Hive accepted there was a deep bond between parents and children. Whenever I got worried about the sharp transition that lay ahead for me at eighteen, the total change in lifestyle and the loss of all my friends, I comforted myself with the knowledge that I’d still have the support of my parents.

  Now I was hit with a sickening thought. The Hive encouraged the maintenance of the bond between parents and children across level divisions, but some parents still chose to disown a child who came out of Lottery at an embarrassingly low level. I didn’t think that mine would do that, but …

  I was grateful for the distraction of the door opening. I lifted myself on one elbow, and saw an elderly man in a doctor’s uniform. He smiled at me, but waved a reproving finger.

  “Please lie down, Amber. A head injury can cause dizziness, even make you faint without warning, and I don’t like my patients falling on the floor.”

  I lay back on the bed.

  He studied his dataview and murmured to himself. “Recurrent headaches. Flagged as an allergy risk.”

  He came over and peered at my head. “Your admission record says that you were climbing the cliff on Teen Level beach and hit your head on a star. I’ve seen plenty of head injuries before, but never one from a star. Didn’t you realize you were at the top of the climb?”

  “I had my eyes closed during the climb because I’m scared of heights.” I paused. “I suppose that sounds a bit strange.”

  “I’ve heard far stranger things.” He turned on the scanning grid, moved its bar to above my head, and studied the wall display. “You don’t seem to have done any serious damage to yourself, but I’d advise keeping your eyes open next time you climb a cliff.”

  I shuddered. “I’m never going cliff climbing again.”

  The doctor turned off the scanning grid, went across to a shelf, picked up a plastic pack, and ripped it open. “Head injuries always bleed a lot. I’ll clean away the blood so I can see the cut.”

  He worked on my head with what felt like a wet cloth, and then sprayed the top of my head with icy liquid from a bottle. “The good news is the gash is well inside your hairline, so there’s no risk of it leaving a visible scar,” he said cheerfully. “The bad news is that the gash is well inside your hairline, so the glue will mess up your hair for a few days.”

  I was startled. “Glue?”

  “Centuries ago, a doctor would have shaved part of your hair and stitched the wound. These days, we use a very special glue to seal the wound instead.” He fetched another bottle from the shelf. “I’ve sprayed the wound area with skin absorbent local anaesthetic, but you may feel minor discomfort as I close the edges of the cut. Please try not to move for the next couple of minutes, and keep your eyes closed in case the glue spray drifts off target.”

  I closed my eyes, and braced myself to endure some pain, but there was just a slight tugging sensation.

  “All done,” said the doctor. “You can try sitting up now.”

  I sat up slowly, and swung my legs round to sit on the edge of the bed.

  “Any dizziness?”

  “No.”

  “Good. You’ll find the top of your head feels numb for the next hour. Once the local anaesthetic wears off, you’ll probably find your head starts hurting again, but I’ll prescribe you pain killers to help with that.”

  He tapped busily at his dataview, and then looked at me again. “There’s what will feel like, and effectively is, a solid lump of glue on your scalp. You can wash your hair as usual, but don’t colour, comb, brush, or yank at that area of hair, and try not to bump your head again. The glue will vanish naturally in about ten days, after which you can go back to normal.”

  I touched the top of my head with a cautious finger. He was right. It did feel like a lump of glue was stuck in my hair. “Is it safe for me to go swimming?”

  The doctor made a clicking sound with his tongue. “I think you should stay away from the wet sand on Teen Level beach for the next ten days, but a swimming pool should be safe enough.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I think we’ll be keeping you in overnight,” he added, “but you should be able to go back to Teen Level first thing in the morning.”

  I frowned. “Can’t I go back to Teen Level now? My head feels perfectly fine.”

  “We need to make some further checks before we send you back to Teen Level. Someone will come along shortly and show you to another room. Goodbye, Amber.”

  The doctor wandered out of the room. I took my folded dataview from my pocket, tapped it to make it unfurl, and called Shanna. It was a moment before her face appeared on the dataview screen.

  “Amber, are you all right? Where are you?”

  “I’m in a medical facility on Level 93.”

  “Level 93!” Shanna shrieked in horror. “What are you doing down there? Do they even have doctors on Level 93?”

  “A very nice doctor has treated me. Can you please tell the others that the doctor says I have to stay here overnight, but I’ll see you all in the morning?”

  “I expect they’ll give you reject protein scum to eat,” said Shanna gloomily.

  Shanna was my best friend, but I was beginning to think I should have called Preeja or Margot instead. “I have to go now. They’re moving me to another room.”

  “I doubt the water on Level 93 is safe to drink either,” said Shanna. “It must be horribly close to the sewage reclamation systems on Level 100.”

  “I’ve really got to go. See you tomorrow, Shanna.”

  I tapped my dataview to end the call, and pulled a face at the wall. Shanna had been my best friend since the day I arrived on Teen Level. My parents had delivered me to my bare, unwelcoming room, helped me unpack my set of basic clothes and possessions authorized under the Teen Level equality rules, made encouraging noises and left. I’d sat there for a while, feeling abandoned and desolate, before venturing out to find the corridor community room.

  I’d never forget the moment when I walked in the door, and an intimidating crowd of strange thirteen-year-olds turned to look at me. I’d been on the brink of turning and running away, when Shanna stepped forward, gave me a smile that oozed self-confidence, and swept me into the conversation going on between her and another girl.

  I’d still no idea what made Shanna choose me to be her best friend that day, rather than Margot, Linnette, Preeja, or one of the other half a dozen girls on our corridor. From the very beginning, it was obvious that beautiful Shanna and athletic Forge would pair off and be the joint leaders of our corridor group. Left to my own devices, I’d have hovered shyly on the fringes of that group, but as Shanna’s best friend I was in the heart of all the activities and parties.

  I was deeply grateful for that, and appreciative of all Shanna’s good points, but I wasn’t blind to her flaws. Shanna could be generous and supportive, but also demanded to be the centre of attention all the time, and sometimes said hurtful things without thinking. That call had been typical of her, enjoying herself shrieking about the food and water not being safe on Level 93, without considering how her words would affect me.

  I tapped at my dataview again to check my messages. There were a dozen messages of good wishes from friends including Atticus and Linnette, a public service reminder about the three-monthly test closure of the Hive bulkhead doors, and the daily summary of the Blue Zone sports results.

  The door opened. I’d been expecting someone in a medical uniform to come and fetch me, but this was a girl wearing a cheap red top and skirt. Her h
air was a mass of thick black curls, which clustered tightly round her dark face, and she looked so young that I could have believed she was seventeen like me. Her appearance had to be misleading though. If the girl was working here, then she must have gone through Lottery already and be at least nineteen.

  “Hi, Amber.” She grinned at me. “I’m Simone, but everyone calls me Buzz.”

  I couldn’t help grinning back at her. “Why do they call you Buzz?”

  “My parents claim that when I was a small child I was always talking, and if I didn’t know the right word for what I wanted to say then I’d make a sort of high-pitched, buzzing sound. I still talk all the time even now.”

  She paused to study me. “I’m supposed to take you to another room. Are you able to walk the length of a corridor or two, or should I get a wheelchair?”

  I tapped my dataview to fold it up, shoved it back into my pocket, and stood up. “I can walk.”

  “You’re sure you won’t faint or be sick?” Buzz wrinkled her nose and shuddered. “I’ve had one person throw up already today, and I don’t want another one.”

  “I don’t think I’ll faint or be sick.”

  She nodded. “You can walk then, but warn me if you start feeling dizzy.”

  I followed Buzz out of the room and along the corridor. She waved her hand as we reached a drinks dispenser.

  “Would you like something to drink, Amber?”

  I was feeling thirsty, but I couldn’t get Shanna’s comment about the sewage reclamation system out of my head. “No, thank you.”

  Buzz turned into another corridor, opened a door labelled “Therapy 6”, and led me into a room that had the same battered white walls as the treatment room, but proper sleep field fittings instead of a bed, and a cushioned armchair. She gestured at the sleep field.