Highways in Hiding

by George O. Smith

  XII

  Catherine took one unsteady step towards me and then came forward with arush. She hurled herself into my arms, pressed herself against me, heldme tight.

  It was like being attacked by a bulldozer.

  Phillip stayed my back against her headlong rush or I would have beenthrown back out through the door, across the verandah, and into themiddle of the yard. The strength of her crushed my chest and wrenched myspine. Her lips crushed mine. I began to black out from the physicalhunger of a woman who did not know the extent of her new-found body. Allthat Catherine remembered was that once she held me to the end of herstrength and yearned for more. To hold me that way now meant--death.

  Her body was the same slenderness, but the warm softness was gone. Itwas a flesh-warm waist of flexible steel. I was being held by a statueof bronze, animated by some monster servo-mechanism. This was no woman.

  Phillip and Marian pried her away from me before she broke my back.Phillip led her away, whispering softly in her ear. Marian carried me tothe divan and let me down on my face gently. Her hands were gentle asshe pressed the air back into my lungs and soothed away the awful wrenchin my spine. Gradually I came alive again, but there was pain left thatmade me gasp at every breath.

  Then the physical hurt went away, leaving only the mental pain; thehorror of knowing that the girl that I loved could never hold me in herarms. I shuddered. All that I wanted out of this life was marriage withCatherine, and now that I had found her again, I had to face the factthat the first embrace would kill me.

  I cursed my fate just as any invalid has cursed the malady that makeshim a responsibility and a burden to his partner instead of a joy andhelpmeet. Like the helpless, I didn't want it; I hadn't asked for it;nor had I earned it. Yet all I could do was to rail against theunfairness of the unwarranted punishment.

  Without knowing that I was asking, I cried out, "But why?" in aplaintive voice.

  In a gentle tone, Marian replied: "Steve, you cannot blame yourself.Catherine was lost to you before you met her at her apartment thatevening. What she thought to be a callous on her small toe was reallythe initial infection of Mekstrom's Disease. We're all psi-sensitive toMekstrom's Disease, Steve. So when you cracked up and Dad and Phil wenton the dead run to help, they caught a perception of it. Naturally wehad to help her."

  I must have looked bitter.

  "Look, Steve," said Phillip slowly. "You wouldn't have wanted us not tohelp? After all, would you want Catherine to stay with you? So that youcould watch her die at the rate of a sixty-fourth of an inch each hour?"

  "Hell," I snarled, "Someone might have let me know."

  Phillip shook his head. "We couldn't Steve. You've got to understand ourviewpoint."

  "To heck with your viewpoint!" I roared angrily. "Has anybody everstopped to consider mine?" I did not give a hoot that they could wind mearound a doorknob and tuck my feet in the keyhole. Sure, I was gratefulfor their aid to Catherine. But why didn't someone stop to think of thepoor benighted case who was in the accident ward? The bird that had beentraipsing all over hell's footstool trying to get a line on his lostsweetheart. I'd been through the grinder; questioned by the F.B.I.,suspected by the police; and I'd been the guy who'd been asked by agrieving, elderly couple, "But can't you remember, son?" Them and theirstinking point of view!

  "Easy, Steve," warned Phillip Harrison.

  "Easy nothing! What possible justification have you for putting methrough my jumps?"

  "Look, Steve. We're in a precarious position. We're fighting a battleagainst an unscrupulous enemy, an undercover battle, Steve. If we couldget something on Phelps, we'd expose him and his Medical Center likethat. Conversely, if we slip a millimeter, Phelps will clip us so hardthat the sky will ring. He--damn him--has the Government on his side. Wecan't afford to look suspicious."

  "Couldn't you have taken me in too?"

  He shook his head sadly. "No," he said. "There was a bad accident, youknow. The authorities have every right to insist that each and everyautomobile on the highway be occupied by a minimum of one driver. Theyalso believe that for every accident there must be a victim, even thoughthe damage is no more than a bad case of fright."

  I could hardly argue with that. Changing the subject, I asked, "but whatabout the others who just drop out of sight?"

  "We see to it that plausible letters of explanation are written."

  "So who wrote me?" I demanded hotly.

  He looked at me pointedly. "If we'd known about Catherine before, she'dhave--disappeared--leaving you a trite letter. But no one could think ofa letter to explain her disappearance from an accident, Steve."

  "Oh fine."

  "Well, you'd still prefer to find her alive, wouldn't you?"

  "Couldn't someone tell me?"

  "And have you radiating the fact like a broadcasting station?"

  "Why couldn't I have joined her--you--?"

  He shook his head in the same way that a man shakes it when he is tryingto explain _why_ two plus two are four and not maybe five or three and ahalf. "Steve," he said, "You haven't got Mekstroms' Disease."

  "How do I get it?" I demanded hotly.

  "Nobody knows," he said unhappily. "If we did, we'd be providing therest of the human race with indestructible bodies as fast as we couldspread it and take care of them."

  "But couldn't I have been told _something_?" I pleaded. I must havesounded like a hurt kitten.

  Marian put her hand on my arm. "Steve," she said, "You'd have beensmoothed over, maybe brought in to work for us in some dead area. Butthen you turned up acting dangerously for all of us."

  "Who--me?"

  "By the time you came out for your visit, you were dangerous to us."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Let me find out. Relax, will you Steve? I'd like to read you deep.Catherine, you come in with me."

  "What are we looking for?"

  "Traces of post-hypnotic suggestion. It'll be hard to find because therewill be only traces of a plan, all put in so that it looks like natural,logical reasoning."

  Catherine looked doubtful. "When would they have the chance?" she asked.

  "Thorndyke. In the hospital."

  Catherine nodded and I relaxed. At the beginning I was very reluctant. Ididn't mind Catherine digging into the dark and dusty corners of mymind, but Marian Harrison bothered me.

  "Think of the accident, Steve," she said.

  Then I managed to lull my reluctant mind by remembering that she wastrying to help me. I relaxed mentally and physically and regressed backto the day of the accident. I found it hard even then to go through thelove-play and sweet seriousness that went on between Catherine and me,knowing that Marian Harrison was a sort of mental spectator. But Ifought down my reticence and went on with it.

  I practically re-lived the accident. It was easier now that I'd foundCatherine again. It was like a cleansing bath. I began to enjoy it. So Iwent on with my life and adventures right up to the present. Having cometo the end, I stopped.

  Marian looked at Catherine. "Did you get it?"

  Silence. More silence. Then, "It seems dim. Almost incredulous--that itcould be--" with a trail-off into thought again.

  Phillip snorted. "Make with the chin-music, you two. The rest of usaren't telepaths, you know."

  "Sorry," said Marian. "It's sort of complicated and hard to figure, youknow. What seems to be the case is sort of like this," she went on in anuncertain tone, "We can't find any direct evidence of anything likehypnotic suggestion. The urge to follow what you call the Highways inHiding is rather high for a mere bump of curiosity, but nothingdefinite. I think you were probably urged very gently. Catherineobjects, saying that it would take a brilliant psycho-telepath to do ajob delicate enough to produce the urge without showing the traces ofthe operation."

  "Someone of scholar grade in both psychology and telepathy," saidCatherine.

  I thought it over for a moment. "It seems to me that whoever did it--ifit was done--was well aware that a good part of
this urge would begenerated by Catherine's total and unexplicable disappearance. You'dhave saved yourselves a lot of trouble--and saved me a lot of heartacheif you'd let me know something. God! Haven't you any feelings?"

  Catherine looked at me from hurt eyes. "Steve," she said quietly, "Abillion girls have sworn that they'd rather die than live without theirone and only. I swore it too. But when your life's end is shown to youon a microscope slide, love becomes less important. What should I do?Just die? Painfully?"

  That was handing it to me on a platter. It hurt but I am notchuckleheaded enough to insist that she come with me to die instead ofleaving me and living. What really hurt was not knowing.

  "Steve," said Marian. "You know that we couldn't have told you thetruth."

  "Yeah," I agreed disconsolately.

  "Let's suppose that Catherine wrote you a letter telling you that shewas alive and safe, but that she'd reconsidered the marriage. You wereto forget her and all that. What happens next?"

  Unhappily I told him. "I'd not have believed it."

  Phillip nodded. "Next would have been a telepath-esper team. Maybe aperceptive with a temporal sense who could retrace that letter back tothe point of origin, teamed up with a telepath strong enough to drill ahole through the dead area that surrounds New Washington. Why, evenbefore Rhine Institute, it was sheer folly for a runaway to write aletter. What would it be now?"

  I nodded. What he said was true, but it did not ease the hurt.

  "Then on the other hand," he went on in a more cheerful vein, "Let'stake another look at us and you, Steve. Tell me, fellow, where are younow?"

  I looked up at him. Phillip was smiling in a knowing-superior sort ofmanner. I looked at Marian. She was half-smiling. Catherine lookedsatisfied. I got it.

  "Yeah. I'm here."

  "You're here without having any letters, without leaving any broad trailof suspicion upon yourself. You've not disappeared, Steve. You've beena-running up and down the country all on your own decision. Where you goand what you do is your own business and nobody is going to set up a hueand cry after you. Sure, it took a lot longer this way. But it was a lotsafer." He grinned wide then as he went on, "And if you'd like to takesome comfort out of it, just remember that you've shown yourself to bequite capable, filled with dogged determination, and ultimatelysuccessful."

  He was right. In fact, if I'd tried the letter-following stunt longearlier, I'd have been here a lot sooner.

  "All right," I said. "So what do we do now?"

  "We go on and on and on, Steve, until we're successful."

  "Successful?"

  He nodded soberly. "Until we can make every man, woman, and child on theface of this Earth as much physical superman as we are, our job is notfinished."

  I nodded. "I learned a few of the answers at the Macklin Place."

  "Then this does not come as a complete shock."

  "No. Not a complete shock. But there are a lot of loose ends still. Sothe basic theme I'll buy. Scholar Phelps and his Medical Center are busyusing their public position to create the nucleus of a totalitarianstate, or a physical hierarchy. You and the Highways in Hiding are busytearing Phelps down because you don't want to see any more rule by theDivine Right of Kings, Dictators, or Family Lines."

  "Go on, Steve."

  "Well, why in the devil don't you announce yourselves?"

  "No good, old man. Look, you yourself want to be a Mekstrom. Even withyour grasp of the situation, you resent the fact that you cannot."

  "You're right."

  Phillip nodded slowly. "Let's hypothesize for a moment, taking a subjectthat has nothing to do with Mekstrom's Disease. Let's take one of theold standby science-fiction plots. Some cataclysm is threatening thesolar system. The future of the Earth is threatened, and we have onlyone spacecraft capable of carrying a hundred people to safety--somewhereelse. How would you select them?"

  I shrugged. "Since we're hypothecating, I suppose that I'd select themore healthy, the more intelligent, the more virile, the more--" Istruggled for another category and then let it stand right there becauseI couldn't think of another at that instant.

  Phillip agreed. "Health and intelligence and all the rest being prettymuch a matter of birth and upbringing, how can you explain to WilburZilch that Oscar Hossenpfeiffer has shown himself smarter and healthierand therefore better stock for survival? Maybe you can, but theend-result is that Wilbur Zilch slaughters Oscar Hossenpfeiffer. Thiseither provides an opening for Zilch, or if he is caught at it, itprovides Zilch with the satisfaction of knowing that he's stopped theother guy from getting what he could not come by honestly."

  "So what has this to do with Mekstrom's Disease and supermen?"

  "The day that we--and I mean either of us--announces that we can 'cure'Mekstrom's Disease and make physical supermen of the former victims,there will be a large scream from everybody to give them the sametreatment. No, we'll tell them, we can't cure anybody who hasn't caughtit. Then some pedagogue will stand up and declare that we aresuppressing information. This will be believed by enough people to do usmore harm than good. Darn it, we're not absolutely indestructible,Steve. We can be killed. We could be wiped out by a mob of angrycitizens who saw in us a threat to their security. Neither we of theHighways nor Phelps of The Medical Center have enough manpower to besafe."

  "So that I'll accept. The next awkward question comes up: What are wegoing to do with me?"

  "You've agreed that we cannot move until we know how to inoculatehealthy flesh. We need normal humans, to be our guinea pigs. Will youhelp bring to the Earth's People the blessing that is now denied them?"

  "If you are successful, Steve," said Marian, "You'll go down in Historyalong with Otto Mekstrom. You could be the turning point of the humanrace, you know."

  "And if I fail?"

  Phillip Harrison's face took on a hard and determined look. "Steve,there can be no failure. We shall go on and on until we have success."

  That was a fine prospect. Old guinea-pig Cornell, celebrating hisseventieth birthday as the medical experimentation went on and on.

  Catherine was leaning forward, her eyes bright. "Steve," she cried,"You've just _got_ to!"

  "Just call me the unwilling hero," I said in a drab voice. "And put itdown that the condemned specimen drank a hearty dinner. I trust thatthere is a drink in the house."

  There was enough whiskey in the place to provide the new specimen with anear-total anesthesia. The evening was spent in forced badinage, shallowlaughter, and a pointed avoidance of the main subject. The whiskey wasgood; I took it undiluted and succeeded in getting boiled to theeyebrows before they carted me off to bed.

  I did not sleep well despite my anesthesia. There was too much on mymind and very little of it was the fault of the Harrisons. One of thethings that I had to face was the cold fact that part of Catherine'slack of communication with me was caused by logic and good sense. BothHistory and Fiction are filled with cases where love was set asidebecause consummation was impossible for any number of good reasons.

  So I slept fitfully, and my dreams were as unhappy as the thoughts I hadduring my waking moments. Somehow I realized that I'd have been farbetter off if I'd been able to forget Catherine after the accident, ifI'd been able to resist the urge to follow the Highways in Hiding, ifI'd never known that those ornamental road signs were something morethan the desire of some road commissioner to beautify the countryside.But no, I had to go and poke my big bump of curiosity into the problem.So here I was, resentful as all hell because I was denied the pleasureof living in the strong body of a Mekstrom.

  It was not fair. Although Life itself is seldom fair, it seemed to methat Life was less fair to me than to others.

  And then to compound my feelings of persecution, I woke up once aboutthree in the morning with a strong urge to take a perceptive dig downbelow. I should have resisted it, but of course, no one has ever beenable to resist the urge of his sense of perception.

  Down in the living room, Catherine was crying on Phillip Harri
son'sshoulder. He held her gently with one arm around her slender waist andhe was stroking her hair softly with his other hand. I couldn't begin todig what was being said, but the tableau was unmistakable.

  She leaned back and looked at him as he said something. Her head movedin a 'No' motion as she took a deep breath for another bawl. She buriedher face in his neck and sobbed. Phillip held her close for a moment andthen loosed one hand to find a handkerchief for her. He wiped her eyesgently and talked to her until she shook her head in a visible effort toshake away both the tears and the unhappy thoughts.

  Eventually he lit two cigarettes and handed one to her. Side by sidethey walked to the divan and sat down close together. Catherine leanedagainst him gently and he put his arm over her shoulders and hugged herto him. She relaxed, looking unhappy, but obviously taking comfort inthe strength and physical presence of him.

  It was a hell of a thing to dig in my mental condition. I drifted off toa sleep filled with unhappy dreams while they were still downstairs.Frankly, I forced myself into fitful sleep because I did not want tostay awake to follow them.

  As bad as the nightmare quality of my dreams were, they were better forme than the probable reality.

  * * * * *

  Oh, I'd been infernally brilliant when I uncovered the first secret ofthe Highways in Hiding. I found out that I did not know one-tenth of thetruth. They had a network of Highways that would make the Department ofRoads and Highways look like a backwood, second-rate, politicalorganization.

  I'd believed, for instance, that the Highways were spotted only alongmain arteries to and from their Way Stations. The truth was that theyhad a complete system from one end of the country to the other. Lanesled from Maine and from Florida into a central main Highway that laidacross the breadth of the United States. Then from Washington and fromSouthern California another branching network met this main Highway.Lesser lines served Canada and Mexico. The big Main Trunk ran from NewYork to San Francisco with only one large major division: A heavy linethat led down to a place in Texas called _Homestead_. Homestead, Texas,was a big center that made Scholar Phelps' Medical Center look like aTeeny Weeny Village by comparison.

  We drove in Marian's car. My rented car, of course, was returned to theagency and my own bus would be ferried out as soon as it could bearranged so that I'd not be without personal transportation in Texas.Catherine remained in Wisconsin because she was too new at being aMekstrom to know how to conduct herself so that the fact of hersuper-powerful body did not cause a lot of slack jaws and highsuspicion.

  We drove along the Highways to Homestead, carrying a bag of the MekstromMail.

  The trip was uneventful.