Bionic Agent Read online

  As soon as he was capable of staying on his feet for a brief period with the aid of a walking frame, he stood in front of a full-length mirror in his private room. He couldn’t see very well but, even though his doctors had warned him about his appearance, he was horrified by the damage that an explosion could inflict on a human being. What he saw in the mirror was a terrible and torn imposter. It was a rag doll that had been ripped to pieces and sewn back together again. But it wasn’t even complete. Whoever had stitched the cruel figure had not found all of the pieces. And the image brought tears to his eyes.

  He was bruised, battered, cut and scarred. He was a mass of swellings, scabs, stitches and dressings. Missing his right arm and ear, he was also lopsided. His eyesight was clouded, unfocused and lacked colour. Short-sighted – anything beyond a few metres was washed out in a hazy grey – he didn’t stand a chance of identifying anything moving rapidly. His hearing was poor. The sounds of the hospital were muffled. Apparently, a part of his brain that handled hearing, sight and smell had been mangled in the Thames Estuary explosion.

  His mouth was cut and distorted. His cheek had been ripped away. Part of his shaved head was still bandaged. The rest was covered with blisters, bumps and blackened blood. His whole head seemed to be a different shape, especially at the back where he couldn’t quite see. He knew that his skull was broken there, though. That’s why he’d been given a boxing helmet. It was supposed to protect the fracture from further damage if he fell over or walked into a wall. Tottering right up to the glass, he peered closely at his eyes. He couldn’t make out what was wrong with them, but they didn’t look right.

  Ben had unseen scars as well. Mental scars. When a doctor had managed to make him understand what had happened to his family, he’d wished he’d been allowed to die beside them. His mum, dad, big brother and sister. Gone in an instant.

  His mum used to say with a smile, “When I’m past it, just take me out and shoot me. Get it over with. Let me bow out with a bit of dignity.” It was illegal, of course. But, even though she was a police officer, she kind of meant it. Perhaps a massive dose of morphine had been more on her mind than a gun. In Ben’s case, though, the morphine was not meant to take life away. It made life tolerable by killing his pain.

  There was one sentence he kept hearing. You’re lucky to be alive. All the doctors and nurses said the same thing. It was the first sentence he remembered hearing when he’d come round. He couldn’t hear properly, but he’d heard that. Lucky! He didn’t feel lucky. He felt incredible pain. That’s all.

  Standing in front of the mirror, he wondered what he’d be called. The patchwork boy. The orphan. The scarecrow. The invalid. Where was the luck in that?

  And what about all the things he used to do with his right arm? Playing tennis, drumming, throwing, writing, supporting his own weight, tapping a keypad, punching and everything else. What about all those simple things – like getting dressed and eating – that required two hands? Exhausted, he shuffled back to bed like a ninety-year-old.

  Yet, over the coming days, somehow, he summoned the strength and courage to carry on.

  As soon as The Whittington had made him stable and treated the worst of his injuries, Ben had his first visitor. Confined to his room in the north London hospital, he was pleased to hear that someone had come to see him. Maybe some relative had heard what had happened and come to take care of him. Maybe Grandma and Granddad had flown in from their home in Australia. Maybe it was Amy Goss. He hoped it was Amy. He needed to talk to someone. But his visitor wasn’t a friend or relative.

  An immensely tall and skinny but authoritative figure stepped out of the fog of his damaged eyesight. When the man came closer, Ben realized that he’d never seen him before.

  “It’s Ben Smith, isn’t it?” he said in a loud voice. Obviously, he knew that Ben was partly deaf.

  Ben nodded. “Yes.”

  “I heard about you – and your circumstances. You’re an extraordinary boy. These injuries would’ve been too much for most people, but your body’s decided to carry on. I’m Angel, by the way.”

  “Oh.” Not Dr. Angel, Mr. Angel or Angel Something. Just Angel.

  “I run a specialist unit up the road.”

  “Specializing in what?”

  “Well, one thing I can do is help someone like you,” Angel replied. He almost shouted. “Artificial limbs, the very best in plastic surgery, getting your brain and eyes to function properly again, and coming to terms with a new life. It’s about enhancing a damaged body, making you stronger than you were before.”

  Ben liked the sound of being stronger than before, but he couldn’t believe that it would ever happen. He imagined he was beyond repair. “What’s this unit called?”

  “It’s got a name,” Angel said, “but I’d rather not talk about it here when anyone could just walk in on us. Don’t worry, though. It’s all been cleared with the hospital. They’ve given me your details and I’ve set up a medical room especially for you.”

  Ben frowned. It was a strange response from a strange man. There again, Ben was going through a strange period. It was a time when doctors and nurses ruled his life. Apparently, it was a time when a weird man could come into his room and take control over his treatment.

  A mother and father were made for moments like this. A mother or father would say, “Hey, what’s going on here? Who are you, exactly? What are your qualifications? Tell me more.” A mother or father would check everything and then say, “Yes, Ben. It’s for the best. This Angel’s going to help you.” But Ben didn’t have a mother or father any more. He was on his own. He had to make his own decisions.

  “What do I have to do?” Ben asked.

  Angel smiled. “Not a lot. I’ll get one of the doctors – a friend of mine – to come in and talk to you about it. Make sure you’re happy with what’s happening. Then the hospital discharges you into my care. That’s it. A drive up the hill and we’re there in five minutes.” He shrugged. “If it doesn’t work out, you come back here, but I don’t think you’ll want to do that.”

  Ben thought about it for a moment and then said, “Okay.”

  “Good decision,” Angel replied. “I’ll get things moving.”

  The mysterious Angel didn’t waste time. The next day, Ben saw the outside world for the first time since the explosion. But not for long. The car went up the busy hill to Highgate Village, and turned left into the narrow road called Swain’s Lane. Suddenly, it didn’t feel like London any more. The car crawled along, past a large radio mast, avoiding the tourists heading for Waterlow Park and Highgate Cemetery. Within a minute, it pulled up outside a large house which backed onto the lane. The tall wall that separated its garden from Swain’s Lane was topped with spikes and two security cameras scanned the area.

  Angel got out, tapped a code into a keypad by the garage and then pushed open the steel door. “Don’t be put off by the back. Come up to the living room. It’s superb.”

  Ben hoped no one was looking. He looked stupid in the protective boxing helmet. Then he went to grab the door with the hand he no longer had. He adjusted his position so that he could hold it open with his single crutch instead. It closed behind him with a clunk that even he could hear was solid and secure.

  Tired after walking up one short flight of stairs, Ben gasped as he walked into the large, sparsely furnished living room. One entire side was made of glass panels and it overlooked Highgate Cemetery. He was immediately drawn to the massive window and the view of stone crosses, plinths and headstones among the vegetation. It took him a few seconds to realize that the bizarre, fuzzy shapes like frozen zombies were bushes growing up and over some of the monuments. He couldn’t make out the more distant trees and the bobbing heads of a group of visitors taking the guided tour of the graveyard. They were lost in the permanent haze of his feeble vision.

  “There’s a veranda above us that’s got an even better view. Good for recuperation.” Angel turned towards Ben and, sensing his frustration, added,
“Your vision’s one of the first things we’ll sort out.”

  Ben was puzzled. The building appeared to be a large, modern yet ordinary home within Highgate Cemetery. “You said this was a specialized unit or something. It’s just a house. A house in a graveyard!”

  “Yes,” Angel replied, “but with some additional features that aren’t immediately obvious. You’ll see. Right now, though, you’re looking pale. You need rest and I want my doctor to look you over in the medical room. There’s a lift down to it.”

  “A lift? Down?”

  “That’s one of the unusual features. Underground rooms.”

  “What is this place? Not a hospital or a surgery.”

  “It’s very private but still in the heart of London. It’s called Unit Red. We’ll talk about it once you’re settled.”

  “My painkillers are wearing off.”

  Angel nodded sympathetically. “Come on. I’ll show you your bedroom and then get the doctor to fix you up.”

  Ben’s bedroom was up one more floor. A small airy room – clinically clean – with a view over the sleepy cemetery. He opened the wardrobe door and noticed a good range of brand new clothes. After his house had been destroyed, he didn’t expect to see his own gear, but he became distressed straight away because the neatly arranged wardrobe reminded him of everything he’d lost. “These aren’t mine!”

  “I’m sorry,” said Angel. “They are all your size, though.”

  Every shoe stored at the bottom of the wardrobe had Velcro fastenings. That was because human beings needed two hands to tie laces.

  Ben flopped onto the edge of the bed and winced at the pain of his sudden movement. Head bowed, he muttered, “I’ve got nothing. No clothes, no family, no photos, no phone. No possessions at all. No friends. Not even a home. Nothing.”

  “I can get you whatever you need,” Angel told him.

  “That’s not the point, is it? Can you bring my family back?”

  “No.”

  “What about my friend, Amy? I want to see her.”

  Angel shook his head. “Now’s not the right time. Come on.” Angel guided him towards the door. “Let’s have you checked over.”

  Ben needed the support of a crutch to keep him upright, but his body was so pathetic, he could manage only one. The lift took them down to a windowless corridor with a series of doors. Knowing that the house had gravestones right outside, Ben realized that these hidden rooms must lie alongside the dead. On the other side of the walls had to be the decomposed remains of corpses. Ben wasn’t sure if that was freaky or comforting. The occupants of the burial ground could cast an eerie shadow on the house or they might watch over it. He hoped that living next to them would be like having the protection of ancestors.

  He hesitated before he went into the medical room. Looking like a dentist’s surgery with a high-tech chair and all sorts of modern gadgetry, it made him feel anxious and reassured at the same time. Clearly, the room had been prepared for him in advance because the walls were plastered with close-ups of his wounds, X-ray images and brain scans. He recognized some of them from the hospital. The medical mural was the story of his infirmity: a shattered shoulder, a fractured skull, and a black hole in the marbled grey of his brain like a terrible storm cloud. Apparently, Unit Red – whoever they were – already knew him inside out.

  Over the coming weeks, Ben spent a lot of time in the medical room, mere metres away from the skeletons of Highgate Cemetery. He saw doctors, surgeons, an optician, a physiotherapist, even engineers, technicians and computer experts to mend his broken body. And there was a psychiatrist. She wanted to mend his broken mind – to help him overcome the mental trauma of losing his family and parts of his body. Apart from her, they all said the same old phrase – you’re lucky to be alive – before they set about improving him.

  Above them all in the specialist centre was Angel. Unit Red’s boss came and went, but he was fond of saying that he would be available every step of the way as Ben learned to live again. He was less fond of explanations. He always avoided talking about the exact nature and purpose of Unit Red.

  Outside, the world carried on without Ben. The dead were laid to rest and mourned. The police were investigating the Thames explosion, following a lot of leads, but making no arrests. Most of the ruins on the south Essex and north Kent coasts would be rebuilt. Some businesses and people would start up again. Many would find it too painful and move away. Confined to the Unit Red headquarters in London, Ben would also be rebuilt.

  Sometimes, thoughts of life beyond Highgate Cemetery came to Ben’s mind. Usually, they hit him when the pain would not go away or when he couldn’t sleep. He ached to know what had happened to Amy and why, according to Angel, it was never the right time to be reunited with friends. He ached to know who had robbed him of his normal life, his friends and family, everything he had. And he ached to know why.

  3 TRANSFORMATION

  Unit Red’s chief surgeon led Ben to the room at the end of the underground corridor. Hesitating by the door, he said, “This is where you’ll have the big operations.” Going inside, he added, “Sometimes you’ll see it. Sometimes you won’t. It depends whether you need local or general anaesthetic.”

  Ben gasped in amazement. He was inside a tiny observation room. Beyond the window was a fully equipped, modern and spotless operating theatre, just like in a hospital.

  “It’s sealed,” the surgeon told him, “to prevent infections. We can’t go in without scrubbing up and getting into sterile clothing.”

  Ben’s eyes struggled to focus. He couldn’t make out all of the equipment and, even if he could, he wouldn’t have recognized most of the high-tech kit. There was a large trolley with electronic gear on each shelf and a long monitor at the top. A giant computer screen and a digital clock were attached to the left-hand wall. There was a cupboard that probably contained horrible things like scalpels, drills and medical saws. Above the operating table were three massive round lights on jointed arms so that they could be moved into any position. There was also a laser. At the head of the bed was a doughnut-shaped ring that would just about encircle a body like a lifebelt. “What’s that for?” Ben said, pointing at it.

  “Ah. We’ll be using that straight away. It’s a brain scanner. MRI – magnetic resonance imaging – it’s called. I’m going to drill a couple of small holes through your skull – nothing to worry about – and put implants directly into your brain. The scanner will let me see exactly what I’m doing while I’m doing it. And you can talk to me at the same time.”

  Ben looked horrified. “Talk? Won’t you knock me out first?”

  “It’s better not to. That way, you can tell me if you can see better when I connect your optic nerve to a brain implant. You won’t feel any pain. A local anaesthetic will take care of that.”

  Ben shivered. He thought there was something weird and ghoulish about talking to a surgeon who was fiddling around inside his brain at the time. He didn’t want to hear any more. Instead, he tried to get an answer to a question that Angel had sidestepped. He took a deep breath and asked, “What is Unit Red?”

  The chief surgeon smiled. “I think I’ll let Angel handle that one – when you’re ready. My job is just to make you better.”

  Ben needed several days to recover after every operation. To keep track of them all, he felt as if he should chalk them up on his bedroom wall in the Unit Red building, like a prisoner marking each day in captivity.

  His eyes had been fixed. Both irises had been fitted with a tiny camera and an electrode had been attached to the retina of each eye. The signal from the cameras was picked up by the electrodes and fed directly into his optic nerve. The sensory information was handled partly by his brain and partly by an implant, letting him see clearly. More than clearly. He had the best eyesight in the world. And it wasn’t just visible light. The cameras worked over a wide wavelength range. He had infrared vision so he could see in the dark and terahertz vision that allowed him to look straight through
people’s clothes. Except that he hadn’t mastered the full scope of his new eyes yet. Until he learned how to cope, he had to put up with the confusing crossover of different wavelengths. He had to put up with the bizarre sensation that warm-blooded beings looked like radioactive aliens. And sometimes they appeared naked.

  Even though he now had amazing high-tech eyes, no one would notice unless they came quite close.

  The next operation was a big one. It was the first step to giving him a new arm and it meant general anaesthetic and a long recovery. Ben was scared and pleased at the same time. He was fed up with looking odd and ugly, like a teapot without its spout. He was fed up with being unbalanced. Fed up with fighting his instincts to reach out with an arm that was no longer there. Fed up with his slow and hopeless left arm. He longed for a time when eating, showering, dressing and undressing didn’t take an age. He wanted something to fill his shirtsleeve. He hated the way that clothes simply hung from his right shoulder and flapped around uselessly, like a flag waving to show everyone his impairment. When the frustrations got to him, he’d go to the gym and take it out on a punchbag, but that didn’t really work. He could hit it only with this ineffectual left arm.

  One of the doctors peered closely at Ben’s stumpy shoulder. “You’ve healed nicely – to the point where we can start working on it. We’re going to implant titanium rods into your remaining bones.” She demonstrated angles and directions with her pen. “They’ll poke through your skin like bolts and we’ll fix your new arm onto them. I know it sounds horrible, but it’s simple. Not risky. And, when the arm’s on, you won’t see the fitting.”

  Ben turned towards Angel, who stood to one side. “You said the arm’s really clever and complicated.”

  “It is. Fantastic. If you call it advanced technology, you’re not doing it justice. It’s super-advanced. You’re the first person in the world to get this version. You’ll love it. You’ll be able to do incredible things.”

  The doctor explained, “The mechanism and electronics are tomorrow’s state of the art, but the fitting’s just nuts and bolts basically. That’s what I meant by calling it simple.” She spoke clearly to make sure that Ben could hear. “Where you once had flesh, bone, blood and nerves, you’ll have motors, carbon-fibre rods, wires and fancy electronics. But it’ll look realistic when we’ve finished.”