The Prisoner by Thomas M. Disch

Author:Thomas M. Disch [Thomas M. Disch]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: eISBN 1-59176-502-1
Publisher: ibooks, Inc.

“This is accomplishing nothing,” Number 2 burst out through his six speakers, after listening to the doctor chant the first thirty stanzas of the “The Rime of the Ancient Mariner.” “We have learned only that at some point in his schooldays he was required to memorize Coleridge’s stupid ballad, and that he now associates that memory with pris­ons. We must establish whether or not it was he who broke into the archives and set that fire. That should be easy enough to find out. Then, we shall explore his more inter­esting recesses.”

“You had told me,” the doctor said, “that there was no doubt he’d done it. The two films taken from his file, one of which was found in his possession in London. His finger-prints on everything. Any court could indict with evidence that strong–legally!”

“That’s why a doubt lingers. He isn’t a bungler. It might well be that the film we found him watching was mailed to him, as he claims, in London. As for the fingerprints, they would have been available to any of us.”

“Of us? Surely you don’t think . . .?”

“Everyone, including myself, would like to see certain of those records destroyed. Why did you first come to work for us, Number 14, eh? Not purely from your dedication to science. 3, likewise, would prefer to forget that unhappy incident in Poland. 4 might well wish for some final dis­continuity with his 1952-model face. 6–his motives are different but even more compelling. 7? 7 is always whining that he wants to be back in London frying literature in a cork-lined cell.”

“We both know, Number 2, that my brother is incapable of such derring-do. He’s a dear boy, but quite incapable.”

“Personally, I have a higher regard for the boy’s capabilities, but that’s not the issue.”

“I would have thought you’d take more satisfaction in accusing me.”

“Not accusing, Number 14–suspecting. None of us were continually before the cameras or with witnesses during that afternoon. Any of us could have used the tunnel to get to the Archives and back. Except 8, of course. He was in your care at the time, wasn’t he. But 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, any of them, in any combination.”

“It all sounds very baroque to me.”

“Rococo, if you like. It isn’t my idea in any case–it’s Number 1’s.”

For the first time during this exchange, she opened her eyes: they were of different colors, one milky blue, one hazel-brown. “Damn!” She closed them quickly, covered her face with her hands. The high pale brow furrowed with concentration.

“Did you lose rapport?” Number 2 asked anxiously.

“No I’m still . . . the priest is still chopping up seagulls.”

“And the vocal?”

“This one’s a strong subvocalizer, so that’s no problem. I do wish you wouldn’t say things to startle me like that. I could have lost touch. Now, what image do you suggest in order to lead him back to the scene of the crime?”

“Why not a photograph of the room?”

“Too complicated. The laser would burn his eyeballs out before enough identifying detail could be established.

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