"There are two people living in my head. One is me and the other is George. George is a robot." The man sat in the corner, dressed in clean hospital robes.
"George is a person. George is a robot. George lives in your head," Dr Harrison summarised in the same dull tones. He reached behind him and flicked off the chip recording the audio.
His patient, seeing he was off record, stood, stretched, approached the desk. The desk buzzed a warning and the patient held up his hands in assuage. The white sleeves fell back to reveal a tatty medical bracelet and old scars. "You know George, don't you Doctor?" Dr Harrison didn't reply, just waited for the orderlies to take back the last catch of the day.
When the patient, 'Liam Saunders' he noted checking the file, had left, Dr Harrison fetched his allocation of green crystal from the room's locked cabinet and ran it into his vein. As the silent camera in the ceiling looked on in approval, he wondered which mindfuck was on this evening's menu.
"Yeah," he said, "I know George." Then there was colour and then there was tomorrow.
"Good morning, Liam."
"Good morning, Doctor Harrison."
"How is George?"
"Sorry?"
"Ah. No matter, Liam."
Session Two with Consumer 567A, Liam Saunders, was the standard affair. Questions were delivered and answered in the timely, stately progression attributable to a first round of treatment. 'Do you understand why you are here?' 'Do you have everything you need?' 'Are you sleeping?' 'Have you seen your parents recently?' 'What motivated you to shoot those 32 people full of holes?' That kind of thing.
Dr Harrison scribbled a few notes on the case file while waiting for his next patient, an arsonist from Virginia. You didn't get many pryos these days, but the doctor found himself lacking the usual excitement. Saunders, still bothering him no doubt.
No doubt.
His supervisor dropped in at the end of the day.
"You've been with us how long now, Harrison?"
"It would be almost four years, Mr Nelson," replied the doctor.
"Do you still believe in what we do?"
"Certainly, Mr Nelson. Without us to stitch up the fabric of society when it tears, humanity would be in a poor state, wild beggars in the street, dressed in rags, rutting like dogs."
"Much more decorative than our literature puts forward, but apt," said Mr Nelson. "We do important work here. Sometimes a staff member comes up that doesn't see it so."
"Fools them."
"Indeed. You're doing well here, Harrison. There's a Registrar position coming up in Green Wing next month."
"So I had heard, Mr Nelson."
"Good... that is good. Glad to see you are still content in your vocation. That will be all then, Doctor"
"Yes, sir. Please give my regards to Mrs Nelson."
Mr Nelson paused in the doorway on his way out and turned back to ask. "Harrison, have any of the patient Consumers mentioned a 'George' in the time you have served."
"No, sir," answered Dr Harrison.
Dr Harrison had already set the fine crystal on his desk when he realised he had no syringes. He punched through a requisition on the communicator and had to wait ten minutes for a response. When it came, it was not the expected porter with the requested hardware, but the young nurse who ran the hospital pharmacy at that late hour.
"I'm sorry, Doctor, there's been a problem with our shipment, there are no spare syringes."
"This is a hospital, how can there be no syringes? Wait, how can there be a problem with the shipment, the only product our dear dead State of Britain turns out these days is Medical Grade ThermoPlastic Syringes with Single Button Activation, surely you don't mean to tell me there's a shortage?"
"There was... a fire. And some mislaid paperwork. Executive Administration made the decision not to release any ThermoPlastic goods for staff use until the... 'shortage'... is sorted out. In case it's not corrected as quickly as anticipated. We have to put the patient Consumers first." She put it firmly.
"But the staff... have to... we too-"
"The medical staff never allow their personal stock to get so low. It is an error in judgment on your part Dr Harrison, not the fault of the Administration."
"Perhaps," desperate, "Perhaps you could lend me some of your personal..."
"It is not permitted Doctor, as you are well aware. Don't fuss. I have informed the Administration of your oversight. They are understanding and agree a night without injection won't harm you any." Her eyes flicked to the camera in the ceiling for a second. "Good night, Doctor."
Tick, tick, tick...
The little fucker, every second, a thick, wet tick, in well timed surprise. Why did the second-hand sound like it was under water? Dr Harrison shook the clock. No, no water. Why? Shit.
George.
Dr Harrison stop pacing, the shattered remains of the clock, it's mechanical innards, spread across the floor in front of him. I'd had been two hours since the nurse had left.
George was.. ? Was what?
He rubbed the back of his neck. Funny, the lens had never seemed to burn so, not in all his four years. He looked up. "Come on God, a little help." No, no help, not that sort of god. There was nothing for it. Dr Harrison started his paperwork.
There was always paperwork; the hospitals were short staffed, short staffed and crumbling and damned and dying. The first file to hand belonged to Consumer 567A, Liam Saunders, and branded with the old school NOT TO BE RELEASED in red serif. Dr Harrison considered. Mostly about dosage and effect and the resolution of the recording being made in the ceiling.
Yeah, I know George.
He made adjustments. Nothing they would notice.
Yeah....
They brought Liam Saunders back to Dr Harrison the following Tuesday, two days earlier than his scheduled appointment.
"Good morning, Liam."
"Good morning, Doctor Harrison."
"How is George?"
"Not so well, Doc."
"And why is that?"
"You guys have been starving him. Perhaps an oversight."
"Perhaps. So. I'm talking to Liam now?" Dr Harrison was unusually tense.
"In the flesh. Or, mind. As it were." And Liam unusually relaxed. Of course that'd worry Them.
When did they become 'Them'?
"Why did you kill 32 people dining in a small cafe off Buwick Road?" asked Dr Harrison.
"Because George wasn't there to stop me. Because George was stopping them, the 32 people, even though they wanted to do the same."
"I don't understand."
"How have you found George lately, Doctor?"
There was a tap on the door and an orderly poked his head into the room. "Excuse me, Doctor," he said, "the audio recorders don't appear to have been started."
"Ah," said the doctor, "Perhaps an oversight," and flicked on the chip.
Mr Nelson sat across from Dr Harrison smoking thin grey cigars. Normally such was frowned up, but exceptions were made for Mr Nelson. He ran the place after all.
"I noticed your clock is broken," said Mr Nelson, gesturing at the clock that was now, mostly, small pieces swept into a spot beside the desk in Dr Harrison's office.
"Yes, I've meaning to get a new one," said Dr Harrison.
"It sets a poor example for the patient Consumers, debris like that, laying around."
"Yes, sir." Dr Harrison picked up the largest shard of glass and placed it on the desk for further consideration. "I can see how it would."
"I wanted to talk to you about the leucotomy you've got pencilled in for Consumer 567A." Mr Nelson paused to take the full measure. "There hasn't been a leucotomy performed in twenty years, Harrison. All treatment is chemical based. You know this. Why have you made this... ridiculous... appointment for surgery? Who would preform it? Where?"
Dr Harrison didn't answer. Couldn't. Didn't know himself. It'd had just felt right. George... George had a lot to say. Except, not recently.
"Perhaps, then, you could explain why the pharmacy records show you've been lowering your personal injections by 10 points?"
"Ah, two weeks ago, when I had to go without, made me realise, I'd been pacing it too close together. It's no good to be hitting reality too hard, sir." Dr Harrison mumbled the excuse.
"Yes, medical staff are granted the privilege of self dosage. It is your prerogative. Yet you have filed no report outlining your decision."
"An oversight, sir."
"There's been a lot of those recently."
Dr Harrison fingered the glass, unable to think of a response. He had more freedom now, he just wasn't sure from what.
George...
Mr Nelson was disturbed. Another one. That made... three, three doctors in the last two months. He buzzed through to the State Engineering Department. After listening for a while the technician asked Mr Nelson how old the doctors had been.
"All early forties," Mr Nelson answered after couple of seconds.
"Are, there's your problem," said the technician. "We just had half a dozen ThermoPlastic foreman in the same age bracket cracked recently. We lost five factories to fire before we made the connection."
"Connection?"
"There's a defect with that particular install base."
The edge looked sharp. Full of possibilities. Mr Nelson knew. Or George did. Dr Harrison wasn't sure, but someone was on to him. Someone knew he'd been playing with Liam's dosages, someone knew he felt like... like this.
George.
The door to the office opened without the customary polite knock. Dr Harrison snatched the shard of glass off the desk, not noticing it biting into flesh. Mr Nelson walked into the room, trailed by two large orderlies.
"There's a robot in my head. Or I'm a robot and there's a person in my head. I couldn't decide," said Dr Harrison.
"There's a robot in your head. Model GEORGEII. There's been some problems with GEORGEII" said Mr Nelson, explaining.
Dr Harrison looked down at his hand, noticing for the first time he was bleeding. "It's making me think bad thoughts."
Mr Nelson shook his head in negation. "No, the GEORGEII's failure to work means you have nothing to suppress the type of thinking a healthy person, a person with a working GEORGE, would consider evil. You are thinking the bad, all by yourself."
"No. George-" Dr Harrison stopped. What was evil? Man's default mode?
"Oh," said Dr Harrison. "Oh. Ok. You better fix me I guess."
They returned Dr Harrison to the State Engineering Department for destruction. While waiting Mr Nelson caught the attention of a Head Technician. "Excuse me, but I'm curious as to how many people in Britain know the current state of affairs. We've been so short of staff recently."
The technician appeared to consider the question from the Head of Maintenance. "You'd be surprised," he said to Mr Nelson, "Most people are aware of it, the GEORGEes, in a vague sort of way. They see the children going in for modification after all. And there's probably still them alive who remember the original laws being passed. But the GEORGEes send it all to background, keeps everyone happy."
"Funny. To think we were so afraid of ourselves we legislated a software entity into our heads, to think for us. And the crystal code we feed them, everyday..."
The technician squinted at him. "Not funny at all, sir. Perfectly logical. There'd be chaos otherwise. We'd revert to a bunch of individual thrill-seekers, unable to see the greater good or insure the survival of our 20 billion strong species. Perhaps you yourself are in need of checkup?"
"Me?"