Number Two was curled up in his chair rocking slowly, the red phone clamped in a hand that had long ago lost all feeling. "Yes, sir. Of course, sir." He heard himself saying in a high, shrill voice that was desperate to please. "I understand. No further actions will be taken against Number Seven, without your direct order. Thank you, sir."
His voice went on, cracking with exhaustion, but still dogged in its determination to prove obedience. When at last, emotionally spent, he subsided his mindless groveling, he anticipated further rebuke from that shadowy realm. But the brutal voice that had once slashed at him like a whip was gone. In its stead were soothing tones and words of assurance. He let them wash over him, too dulled by emotional strain to be aware of anything other than the absence of abuse. This went on for some time then he was saying his good-byes as if to a beloved friend and then the phone was as dead as the hand that grasped it.
He set it down numbly and settled back in his chair, flexing the stiffened fingers. Had he wept? He reflected on the question absently. He felt no particular sense of humiliation at the prospect. Such an event was to be expected. The phone call had been been something of a Maoist struggle session. Going on for hours. He expected he had confessed as well. To what he didn't recall. It hardly mattered. Historically, he considered with an academic detachment, execution followed public confession. But that wasn't allowed here. The Village, after all, was an enlightened place.
The memory of a terrible voice screeching incoherently echoed dimly. It had been the voice of a madman and he knew it had belonged to him. But oddly they hadn't minded his ravings. They had seemed content to pounded away at him. Relentlessly. Mercilessly they had reduced him a groveling worm and he had thanked them, often and profusely. He pondered this with dull curiosity. A break down in the Village always resulted in immediate removal. The operation was much too important to risk a weak link. And yet here he was, still in charge, at least in all appearances. There was a reason. His tired mind toyed distractedly with possibilities then abandoned the exercise like a bored child.
The curtains were drawn across the huge screen. In the dimness of the office it reminded him a theater. He had but to touch the controls and a grand performance would unfold before him. He had little interest in it. The awesome technological power of the Village and its promise for the future seemed a dim memory, like a childhood dream, all but forgotten in the passing of long, weary of years.
For a long while he sat facing the shrouded screen without thought, his mind drifting in peaceful retreat. When he came back to himself he felt somewhat more level. His head a bit clearer. His resolve, though dulled by exhaustion, was still intact.
He considered waking the little Butler to demand coffee but the thought of it soured his stomach. He reached instead for the controls and activated the screen. The curtains drew back and showed him what he wanted to see.
In the half dark of predawn Number Six dropped from his balcony and started resolutely towards Number Severn's house.
The yellow phone range. Number Two snatched it up, irritable with fatigue.
The Supervisor's voice assaulted his tired nerves. Did the man never sleep?
"Number Six has left his cottage."
"I can see that." Two snapped in return.
By this time the man had reached his destination and waited expectantly at the door. Not for the girl inside to answer, but for his keepers to grant him admittance.
"Number Seven is still locked in." The Supervisor apprised him unnecessarily. "What do you want me to do?"
The order seemed to jam behind his teeth as if he were afraid to discover he lacked the authority to give it.
"Sir?"
He collected himself carefully. It did him little good to avoid learning the truth. "If he want's her, let him have her." He put the phone down with a bang.
The door to Number Seven's cottage swung open obligingly and Number Six gave him an insolent salute before disappearing inside.
It seemed he was indeed, still in charge. Number Two felt a slight relief at this small display of his power. Another was in order. He pushed the intercom. The Butler was not long in answering. Did no one in this place sleep?
"Coffee." he said.
On his screen the camera looked placidly at the closed door as he waited idly for the Butler.
The little man was quick with the coffee as if he'd anticipated his master's need. Number Two scowled darkly as the table was set. Perhaps the Butler knew of the phone call. He glanced round the office as if expecting a committee of accusing faces. Perhaps everyone did.
The Butler's departure was scarcely noticed. Number Two took the coffee black. It was hot and bitter as his thoughts. The effects of the mental flogging were already fading. Some vestige of his former self settled uncomfortably back in place. Alone now, he felt regret then near rage at his own weakness. He had begged, pleaded and blubbered. The display played itself back foggily. Madness, fear, abject surrender, like wispy bits of cloud, just clear enough make his shudder in disgust.
But they had left him here amid the trappings of power. How much did he truly exercise? He sneered into his cup. He would soon find out.
It was not until Number Six emerged from the cottage with the girl in tow, that Two realized he had been content to stare at the closed door on his screen. A simple switch of cameras would have granted him access, yet he had allowed himself to be shut out. He felt a shock. Was he so excepting of defeat as to surrender to it? He was Number Two. Nothing in the Village was hidden from him. This assertion rang hollow. He felt no certainty. His right to poke and pry seemed less absolute. If the proud man on his screen closed a door he was not sure of his place to tear it open. He had misplaced his trust in his masters. In this technological monstrosity he called home. His own judgment was not to be trusted. Like one who has discovered unfaithfulness in lover he now questioned his belief in everything.
The train of thought was dangerous. He thrust it away and took note of the people on his screen. The girl drew his eye. At a glance it was clear how brutal last night's proceedings had been. She seemed hollowed out. Like the discarded husk of an insect. Perhaps, Number Two thought uneasily, he had been too impetuous. A lifeless husk would not hold Number Six's interest long. That all too familiar feeling of ice in the pit of his stomach returned. His actions against the girl had been reckless. A threat to the experiment. Whatever the masters' reasons for allowing him to remain in this position would not be to his benefit.
For his part Number Six seemed to take no notice of the girl's state. The usual righteous anger was conspicuously absent, replaced with the confidence he had displayed yesterday in the Bell Tower. He moved with an ease that seemed to melt away the invisible walls of his prison. He might have been strolling the streets of London.
Even as his own confidence waned, Number Six's seemed only to increase.
Number Two swept up the yellow phone. "Get me Control." It was the Supervisor who answered him again, "are you tracking?" He demanded with forced authority.
"Of course."
"Keep them on my screen. I want every move, every word, recorded."
"There are blind spots."
"Then deploy the Observers." he snapped, falling back into his accustom role. "Number Six is to be monitored at all times. He is not to draw a breath without my knowing of it."
"Yes, sir."
The Supervisor's obedience was reassuring. He felt somewhat more at ease as he allowed the screen to consume his attention once again. He put the coffee aside and stood, moving round the desk. Number Six was putting on a performance for him. He wanted to catch every moment of it.
As they walked Six asked. "How do you find our home from home?"
To his relief Two saw a flicker of life return to the girl. The brisk morning air seemed to revive her. She looked round at the quiet Village, half hidden in shadow.
"I've only seen it in passing," she said. "Haven't really taken in the sights."
"Village hospitality isn't what it once was." Six gave the Dome a nod. "Never mind. I'll show you round myself," he said. "It's lovely from the air, a world onto itself. Though you will have to settle for a walking tour, I'm afraid."
He offered the girl his arm and she accepted it with something resembling grace. They seemed companionable enough. If the ideas implanted last night had taken root she showed no indication of it now. As Number Two watched, Six led the girl round the Free Sea. She looked down placidly into the murky water until her guide pointed across the lawn, "There is the Bandstand," he said, "but of course you know all about that."
She looked towards the scene of her crime with no emotion. Number Two moved closer to the screen, the tip of his can rapped against the floor without his notice. He recalled with icy clarity his fear in that moment, when her bullet had so narrowly missed its mark.
"Free concerts every day." Six went on. "They even take request."
"Do the people here enjoy it?"
"As much as they enjoy anything."
They were moving on again. They went along the still quite streets passed the taxi stand where the mini mooks stood in silent ranks awaiting the day.
"Taxis," she said idly, "in this place?"
"Two credit units. Local service only." Six said. "Take you anywhere you like. So long as you end up back here."
"Not particularly useful." the girl noted.
"One of the Village's many eccentric charms."
They went on in a peaceful silence for a time, strolling the quite streets, bordered by still shuttered flowers. The sky over the ocean was beginning lighten.
When they came to the Palace of Fun, Six made a sweeping motion towards it. "Social Club" He said, "Members only."
"Are you a member?"
"Too many black marks on my record. But you may get in."
She gave him a quizzical look.
"You may even make teacher's pet."
This she didn't like. "I'm no ones pet."
"If you know what's good for you," he said in soft warning, "you will learn to be."
Two watched in sudden tension as that stubborn spirit stirred. But as quickly as it came it went, washed away by the dullness the permeated the girl like a wasting disease.
"Should I learn to purr?" she asked humourlessly.
"You will find your new masters prefer blind obedience," Six returned coolly, "to frivolous displays of affection."
She allowed this to pass unchallenged. She could almost make one believe she had adjusted.
They moved on a bit farther before Number Six drew her attention again. "If you have any problems there's our Citizens Advice Bureau. They do a marvelous job."
She looked at the building without interest. Like Number Six, she wouldn't turn to the Village for assistance. It was clear enough that she still regarded them as the enemy. Clear to him, Two thought bitterly. But not to his masters. They were confident it their victory.
Farther on Six found another point of interest. "This is the Town Hall." They stopped before the open porch to look in at the doors beyond, flanked by marble statues. "But I wouldn't advise visiting without an invitation." Six cautioned in a mocking tone. "It's fussy about who it lets in."
Seeming to be caught up in the spirit of Number Six's deprecating mood she said, "wouldn't want the rabble muddling up the democratic process."
This denigration of Village affairs seemed to please the both of them. Six almost smiled. Their banter toyed playfully with open rebellion, batting it about in full display. But he alone could see it.
While Number Two ruminated on this unhappily the pairs' quiet meanderings had brought them to the General Stores. Six was giving the girl a grand tour of her crime spree.
The Shopekeep was busy at the window with a rag. He looked up in surprise as the couple stopped before his shop. "Not open yet, sir." he said with a note of disapproval. "It's still curfew, you know."
"Don't tell. Wouldn't want to get in trouble with the Head Master." Six replied conspiratorially. "We're just taking a little stroll."
"Down memory lane." The girl added.
The shopkeep's soft face reddened.
In front of the big screen Number Two seethed. Number Seven was positively reveling in the moment. The sight of her previous larceny raised no more remorse in her than that of her attempt at murder. Even this would be taken by his betters as an indication of the girl's potential usefulness. After all what good is an assassin overburdened with conscious? Angrily Number Two went back to his chair. They would let that viscous creature kill him if they believed it would bring them a single step nearer to their purpose. The seditious nature of this thought frightened him, as if he'd shouted it aloud. Their purpose was meant to be his purpose.
He sank back into the shadow of the chair feeling then the invisible walls of the prison the Village had become. Always before he had directed and overseen the experiments. Never had he suspected that he might become the subject of one. The bars and straps that had once held his victims now seemed to close round himself. He was as trapped in the madness of his masters' game as the two people on the screen. Perhaps even more so. Those two still possessed the will to fight while he had submitted long ago. Again he felt exposed by the by candidness his own thoughts and unbidden the memory of his recent surrender returned.
When he pulled himself out of these unsettling musings, he realized that the pair were now following the still empty street past his own house. Number Six was indeed flaunting the girl's assault on the Village. A deliberate attempt to agitate him.
"Last night, Number Two, seemed well pleased with you." Six said accusingly, pausing at the foot of the stair. Two feared for a moment they might come up. His musings had left him feeling vulnerable.
Number Seven raised her head to look at the Dome, her eyes rested on the tall, stately window, now repaired. "I don't remember," she said quietly. Then a sudden change came over her like a storm cloud over a sunny field. She glanced cautiously at the door of the house then away as if chased by some terrible memory. Her companion pretended not to notice.
They went on again. The sun was above the peaks now. The cameras tracked them, only losing them occasionally. Number Six seemed determined to stick to a well monitored route. It took them past the Old People's Home which was pointed out by Six, the dutiful guide. "If you're good and give up all your secrets they let you retire." he said, still mocking. "You'll be very well looked after."
The girl had grown quiet. Almost sullen. The fun was gone out of the tour for her. Poor little thing. Two glowered at her as the pair moved on. What was going on in that head of hers? She clearly recalled what she had been told but was she uncertain enough of Number Six to act on it? The blow it would deliver was delicious to contemplate. It lifted his mood and he leaned out of the chair with some confidence. The faithful friend accused of the worst kind of betrayal. Number Two allowed himself to revel a moment in the pleasure of this thought. But the enjoyment of the moment was short lived. He was striking a delicate balance indeed. He could not be sure how the man would react.
The bell sounded a clear peal against the still morning.
Six looked up towards the Tower. "It's going to be getting crowded. I know a quiet place. Come along."
He led them out of the Village towards the beach, along a seldom used path. Two was up out of his chair again. They were going to the graveyard? He leaned over the desk. With cold fear he remembered taunting Number Six while he sat helplessly paralyzed by beneath the light, subdued even in his mind by drugs. The doctor had said the man would only remember what he was instructed to. Had he been wrong?
Number Six led the girl out among the white headstones. They walked in eerie silence past the graves. Neither spoke. At a weathered headstone Six stopped. The number on the stone was 23. Two felt the panic of only a few hours ago, threaten to rise. Did the man remember what he was meant not to? Six was speaking again, in a low tone that forced Number Two to strain to hear. The microphones were not sensitive enough.
"This is the only way one leaves here." Number Six informed the girl.
"Numbers," she said in a voice so soft the microphones scarce picked it up. "At least there's a name on my mom's headstone."
This prickled Two's ears like a footfall in a dark ally. Was she going to confront Six with her mother's death?
Six was quiet for a moment. A man aware of the landmines into which he was about to step.
"I know what you were shown." he said coldly, "I can guess what you were told."
She looked over at him, her face as cold as his tone. There was a tension, like the electrical charge in the air before a storm. It was a moment in which she could set off an explosion with an accusation. She was thinking, turning over the things she had been told. Recalling the image she had been compelled to look at. For a long moment the tension rose then suddenly the girl softened. She turned back to the gravestone.
"The name they put on her stone was a phony as any number." She said in her usually flat voice.
Two chewed his lip with an unconscious savagery. Though the moment had passed he could not relax. He felt even now he was being toyed with. The scene was crafted to shred his nerves.
In that same aggravatingly quiet tone Six said, "When you're dead what does it matter what's written on your gravestone?"
She looked down at the headstone then raised her empty eyes up to the mountain peeks.
"I would have preferred to die alone and in peace."
"Don't talk nonsense." He snapped.
The girl seemed to close up like a flower at sunset. She looked no where, shutting Number Six out. At this the man bristled. There was a sudden danger about him. Two felt it through the camera and almost shrank.
Six moved close to girl as if to intimidate her physically. But in doing so he blocked her from the camera's view. A simple coincidence or the clever calculation of trained spy concealing his true intentions?
"If you want to avoid joining these unfortunate souls, prematurely," Six said wickedly, "you best get smart, Number Seven."
There was no answer from the girl that he could hear but Two sensed conversation still continued between them, one which to his aggravation he was neither able to hear nor see.
Two picked up the phone and barked at the answering voice. "Amplify the microphones in the graveyard."
"They are operating at maximum amplification." came the cool reply.
He slammed the phone down. Six had chosen the location well. The openness necessitated that the watchers stay well back or risk exposure, making them utterly useless. They would never catch the whispered words of the conspirators. In frustration he came to his feet and began to pace before the great screen.
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Six leaned close to the girl his body tense, as if just keeping himself in check. It would play well to the camera. The girl was quiet. He could feel a profound stillness in her, like a spring pressed down, repressed energy waiting to be released.
"Do you trust Number Two?" he breathed.
Her voice came back to him equally hushed. "I don't know who to trust."
"Trust yourself."
"I'm losing myself."
"You mustn't."
She grew still again, almost angry. She was so close to withdrawing her fragile faith in him.
"Number Two is not likely to subject you to the light again." he whispered the words with more conviction then he dare hold.
Her eyes flashed at him. This she wanted to believe, but could not. And well she shouldn't. Number Two was becoming irrational. His actions impossible to predict. If sanity failed him, even the threat of his masters would not stay Number Two's hand.
"So long as the people who run this place believe they can use you to get to me," he said in a quiet, angry voice, "they will restrain Number Two. As much as it is possible."
Again the tension drained out of her. She looked away. Back to the cold gravestone with its even colder inscription.
He had brought her here for a purpose, but one she would never know. The man who watched them knew and no doubt wondered how seriously he had blundered. How worried was he just now? How close did he draw to the edge?
Six touched the rough stone thoughtfully. This was the secret Number Two had foolishly imparted when the desire to twist the knife had overridden reason. They had meant him to forget. But though it were like a fragment of a dream he would always remember. His drug soaked mind had latched onto the information with the ferocity a starving dog does a piece of meat. Number Twenty Three. Casey's father and his friend. Peter Chambers had been laid to rest in this strange, distant place, with only his killers to mourn him.
Casey was brooding beside him, an idle finger tracing the ugly number on the stone's face. This encounter had done little to insure her confidence in him but it had most certainly fed Number Two's paranoia the way petrel feeds a fire. Six smiled and shifted away from the girl, allowing Two's spying eye a good view of her.
"Sulk if you like," Six said loud enough to be easily heard. "It changes nothing."
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Number Two glared hard Six's face as the man glanced at the camera almost casually. It was no mere coincidence he had brought the girl to her father's grave. The man's mind was like a steal trap.
"Your father," Six said and Number Two felt a chill, "was a very good chess player."
Number Six smiled knowing full well the torment felt by his unseen watcher. He looked now fully at the camera and saluted.
"Did he teach you?" he asked the girl.
She shook her head.
"You must learn," Six was saying. "The day is young. We'll have breakfast and then your first lesson."
Two skulked back to his chair and slumped into it. The doctor had assured him there would be no remembrances and yet clearly there were. The man would pay dearly for this. Then a cold realization. No, he would. His dark thoughts so consumed him he was surprised to hear Six speaking again.
They were heading back to the Village now alive with activity. The sound of the band could be heard over the gentle roll of the ocean.
"One who understands chess, understands life." Six said looking into a camera, "And to those who's business it is to end life nothing is of greater value."
Two drew back, far into the recesses of the chair, seeking refuge he would never find. He realized now why his masters had seen fit to leave him here. When Six had completed Number Seven's training, they meant to test her. His suspicions stirred again as he watched the two climbed the steps up from the beach. The ocean breeze teased the young girl's hair playfully as she turned to look at a camera. In that impossible way her eyes met his. He was to be her target.