Highways in Hiding

by George O. Smith

  XXV

  I was yards away from my door before my panic left me. Then I rememberedwhere and who I was and took a fast look around. There was no one elsein the corridor, of course, or I would not have been able to cut and runas I had. But I looked around anyway until my reasoning power told methat I had done little to help my position.

  Like the canary, my plans for escape ended once I was outside of mycage. I literally did not know what to do with my new-found freedom. Onething was becoming painfully obvious: I'd be pinned down tight once Iput a foot outside of the dead area in which this building wasconstructed. What I needed was friends, arms, ammunition, and a good,solid plan of escape. I had neither; unless you call my jailed friendssuch help. And there I could not go; the tell-tales would give me awayto the master control center before I could raise my small--andunarmed--army.

  So I stood there in the brightly lighted corridor and tried to think. Igot nowhere, but I was driven to action again by the unmistakable soundof the elevator at the end of the corridor.

  I eyed the various cell doors with suspicion; opening any but an emptyroom would cause some comment from the occupant, which again would giveme away. Nor did I have time to canvass the joint by peeking into theone-way bull's eyes, peering into a semi-gloom to see which room wasempty.

  So instead of hiding in the corridor, I sloped towards the elevator andthe stairwell that surrounded it, hoping that I could make it before theelevator rose to my floor.

  I know that my passage must have sounded like a turbojet in full flight,but I made the stairway and took a headlong leap down the first shortflight of stairs just as the elevator door rolled open. I hit the wallwith a bumping crash that jarred my senses, but I kept my feet andlooked back up the stairs.

  I caught a flash of motion; a guard sauntering past the top of the well,a cigarette in one hand and a lazy-looking air about him. He wasexpecting no trouble, and so I gave him none.

  I crept up the stairs and poked my head out just at the floor level.

  The guard, obviously confident that nothing, but nothing, could everhappen in this welded metal crib, jauntily peered into a couple of therooms at random, took a long squint at the room I'd recently vacated,and then went on to the end of the hall where he stuck a key in asignal-box. On his way back he paused again to peer into my room,straining to see if he could peer past the little shutter over thebull's eye. Then he shrugged unhappily, and started to return.

  I loped down the stairs to the second floor and waited. The elevatorcame down, stopped, and the guard repeated his desultory search, notstopping to pry into any darkened rooms.

  Just above the final, first-floor flight, I stopped and sprawled on thefloor with only my head and the nose of my gun over the top step. Belowwas the guard's desk and standing beside the desk with anger in everyline of his ugly face was Scholar Phelps!

  The elevator came down, stopped, and the guard walked out, to be nailedby Phelps.

  "Your job," snapped the good Scholar coldly, "says you are to walk."

  "Well, er--sir--it's--"

  "Walk!" stormed Phelps angrily. "You can't cover that stairway in theelevator, you fumbling idiot."

  "But, sir--"

  "Someone could easily come down while you go up."

  "I know that, sir, but--"

  "Then why do you disobey?" roared Phelps.

  "Well, you see, sir, I know how this place is built and no one has evermade it yet. Who could?" The guard looked mystified.

  Phelps had to face that fact. He did not accept it gracefully. "Myorders are orders," he said stiffly. "You'll follow them. To the lastletter."

  "Yes sir. I will."

  "See that you do. Now, I'm going up. I'll ride and you walk. Meet me onthe fourth and bring the elevator down with you."

  "Yessir."

  I sloped upstairs like a scared rabbit. Up to the third again where Imoved down the corridor and slipped into the much-too-thin niche made bya door. Stolidly the guard came up the stairs, crossed in front of theelevator with his back to me, turned the far corner and went on up tothe fourth.

  As his feet started up the stairs, I was behind him; by the time hereached the top, I was half way up.

  Phelps said, "Now, from this moment on, Waldron, you'll follow everyorder to the absolute letter. And when I ring, don't make the error ofbringing the elevator. Send it. It'll come up and stop without a pilot."

  "Yes sir. I'm sorry sir. But you understand, sir, there isn't reallymuch to guard, sir."

  "Then guard nothing. But guard it well, because a man in your positionis gauged in success by the amount of boredom he creates for himself."

  The guard started down and I darted up to poke my head out to see wherePhelps was going. As I neared the floor level, I had a shock likesomeone hurling twenty gallons of ice water in my face. The top floorwas the end of the dead area, and I--

  --pulled my head down into the murk like a diver taking a plunge.

  So I stood there making like a guppy with my head, sounding out theboundary of that deadness, ducking down as soon as the mental murk gaveme a faint perception of the wall and ceiling above me. Then I'd moveaside and sound it again. Eventually I found a little billowing furrowthat rose above the floor level and I crawled out along the floor, stillsounding and moving cautiously with my body hidden in the deadness thatrose and fell like a cloud of murky mental smoke to my sense ofperception.

  I would have looked silly to any witness; wallowing along the floor likea porpoise acting furtive in the bright lights.

  But then I couldn't go any farther; the deadness sank below the floorlevel and left me looking along a bare floor that was also bare to mysense of perception.

  I shoved my head out of the dead zone and took a fast dig, then droppedback in again and lay there re-constructing what I'd perceived mentally.I did it the second time and the third, each time making a rapid scan ofsome portion of that fourth floor.

  In three fast swings, I collected a couple of empty offices, a verycomplete hospital set-up operating room, and a place that looked like aconsultation theatre.

  On my fourth scan, I whipped past Scholar Phelps, who was apparentlydeep in some personal interest.

  I rose at once and strode down the hall and snapped the door open justas Phelps' completely unexpecting mind grasped the perceptive fact thatsomeone was coming down his hallway wearing a great big forty fiveautomatic.

  "Freeze!" I snapped.

  "Put that weapon down, Mr. Cornell. It, nor its use, will get yourfreedom."

  "Maybe all I want out of life is to see you leave it," I told him.

  "You'd not be that foolish, I'm sure," he said.

  "I might."

  He laughed, with all the self-confidence in the world. "Mr. Cornell, youhave too much will to live. You're not the martyr type."

  "I might turn out to be the cornered-rat type," I told him seriously."So play it cagey, Phelps."

  "Scholar Phelps, please."

  "I wouldn't disgrace the medical profession," I told him. "So--"

  "So what do you propose to do about this?"

  "I'm getting out."

  "Don't be ridiculous. One step out of this building and you'll returnwithin a half minute. How did you get out?"

  "I was seduced out. Now--"

  "I'd advise you to surrender; to stop this hopeless attempt; to put thatweapon down. You cannot escape. There are, in this building, your mentaland intellectual superiors whose incarceration bear me witness."

  I eyed him coldly and quietly. "I'm not convinced. I'm out. And if youcould take a dig below you'd see a dead man and an unconscious woman tobear me witness. I broke your Dr. Thorndyke's neck with a chop of mybare hand, Phelps; I knocked Catherine cold with a fist. This thingmight not kill you, but I'm a Mekstrom, too, and so help me I can coolyou down but good."

  "Violence will get you nothing."

  "Try my patience. I'll bet my worthless hide on it." Then I grinned athim. "Oh, it isn't so worthless, is it?"

  "One
cry from me, Mr. Cornell, and--"

  "And you'll not live to see what happens. I've killed once tonight. Ididn't like it. But the idea is not as new now as it was then. I'll killyou, Phelps, if for no other reason than merely to keep my word."

  With a sneer, Phelps turned to his desk and I stabbed my perceptionbehind the papers and stuff to the call button; then I launched myselfacross the room like a rocket, swinging my gun hand as I soared. Thesteel caught him on the side of the head and drove him back from hiscall button before his finger could press it. Then I let him have a fistin the belly because the pistol swat hadn't much more than dazed him.The fist did it. He crumpled in a heap and fought for breathunconsciously.

  I turned to the wall he'd been eyeing with so much attention.

  There was row upon row of small kine tubes, each showing the darkinterior of a cell. Below each was a row of pilot lights, all dark.

  On his desk was a large bank of push buttons, a speaker, and amicrophone. And beside the push button set-up was a ledger containing alist of names with their cell numbers.

  I found Marian Harrison; pushed her button, and heard her ladylike snorefrom the speaker. A green lamp winked under one of the kine tubes and Iwalked over and looked into the darkened cell to see her familiar hairsprawled over a thick pillow.

  I went to the desk and snapped on the microphone.

  "Marian," I said. "MARIAN! HEY! MARIAN HARRISON!"

  In the picture tube there was a stir, then she sat up and looked aroundin a sort of daze.

  "Marian, this is Steve Cornell, but don't--"

  "Steve!"

  "--cry out," I finished uselessly.

  "Where are you?" she asked in a whisper.

  "I'm in the con room."

  "But how on Earth--?"

  "No time to gab. I'll be down in a rush with the key. Get dressed!"

  "Yes, Steve."

  I took off in a headlong rush with the 'Hotel Register' in one hand. Imade the third floor and Marian's cell in slightly more than nothingflat, but she was ready when I came barging into her room. She was outof the cell before it hit the backstop and following me down the halltowards her brother's room.

  "What happened?" she asked breathlessly.

  "Later," I told her. I opened Phillip Harrison's cell. "You go wake upFred Macklin and tell him to come here. Then get the Macklingirl--Alice, it says here--and the pair of you wake up others and startsending 'em up stairs. I'll call you on the telltale as soon as I can."

  Marian took off with the key and the register and I started to shakePhillip Harrison's shoulder. "Wake up!" I cried. "Wake up, Phillip!"

  Phillip made a noise like a baby seal.

  "Wake up!"

  "Wha--?"

  "It's Steve Cornell. Wake up!"

  With a rough shake of his head, Phillip groaned and unwound himself outof a tangle of bedclothing. He looked at me through half-closed glassyeyes. Then he straightened and made a perilous course to the washstandwhere he sopped a towel in cold water and applied it to his face, neck,and shoulders. When he dropped the towel in the sink, his expression wasfresher and his eyes were mingled curiosity and amazement.

  "What gives?" he asked, starting to dress in a hurry.

  "I busted out, slugged Scholar Phelps, and took over the master controlroom. I need help. We can't keep it long unless we move fast."

  "Yeah man. Any moving will be fast," he said sourly. "Got any plans?"

  "We've--"

  The door opened to let Fred Macklin enter. He carried his shirt and hadbeen dressing on the run. "What goes on?" he asked.

  "Look," I said quickly. "If I have to stop and give anybody a rundown,we'll have no time to do what has to be done. There are a couple ofsources of danger. One is the guard down at the bottom of the stairway.The other is the possible visitor. You get a couple of other young,ambitious fellows and push that guard post over, but quick."

  "Right. And you?"

  "I've got to keep our hostage cold," I snapped. "And I'm running theshow by virtue of being the guy that managed to bust loose."

  In the hallway there was movement, but I left it to head back to ScholarPhelps. I got there in time to hear him groan and make scratching noiseson the carpet. I took no chances; I cooled him down with a short jab tothe pit of the stomach and doubled him over again.

  He was sleeping painfully but soundlessly when Marian came in.

  I turned to her. "You're supposed to be waking up--"

  "I gave the key and the register to Jo Anne Tweedy," she said. "JoAnne's the brash young teenager you took a bump with in Ohio. She'scompetent, Steve. And she's got the Macklin twins to help her. Waking upthe camp is a job for the junior division." She eyed the recumbentPhelps distastefully. "What have you in mind for him?"

  "He's valuable," I said. "We'll use him to buy our freedom."

  The door opened again, interrupting Marian. It was Jonas Harrison. Hestood there in the frame of the door and looked at us with a sort ofgrim smile. I had never met the old patriarch of the Harrison Familybefore, but he lived up to my every expectation. He stood tall andstraight; topped by a wealth of snow white hair, white eyebrows, and thetouch of a white moustache. His eyes contrasted with the white; a richand startling brown.

  This was a man to whom I could hand the basic problem of engineering ourfinal escape; Jonas Harrison was capable of plotting an airtightgetaway.

  His voice was rich and resonant; it had a lift in its tone that soundedas though his self-confidence had never been in danger of a set-back:"Well, son, you seem to have accomplished quite a job this night. Whatshall we do next?"

  "Get the devil out of here," I replied--

  --wondering just exactly how I'd known so instantly that this was JonasHarrison. The rich and resonant voice had flicked a subsurfacerecollection on a faint, raw spot and now something important wasswimming around in the mire of my mind trying to break loose and comeclear.

  I turned from the sword-sharp brown eyes and looked at Marian. She wasalmost as I had first seen her: Not much make-up if any at all, her hairfree of fancy dressing but neat, her legs were bare and healthy-tanned.

  I looked at her, and for a half dozen heartbeats her image faded from mysight, replaced by the well remembered figure of Catherine as I hadknown her first. It was a dizzy-making montage because my perceptionsenses the real figure of Marian, superimposed on the visualmemory-image of Catherine. Then the false sight faded and bothperception and eyesight focused upon the true person of Marian Harrison.

  Marian stood there, her face softly proud. Her eyes were lookingstraight into mine, as if she were mentally urging me to fight thathidden memory into full recollection.

  Then I both saw and perceived something that I had never noticed before.A fine golden chain hung around her throat, its pendant hidden fromsight beneath the edge of her bodice. But my sense of perception dug amodest diamond, and I could even dig the tiny initials engraved in themetal circlet:

  SC-MH

  To dig anything that fine, I knew that it must be of importance to me.And then I knew that it had once been so very personally my ownbusiness, for the submerged recollection came bursting up to the top ofmy mind. Marian Henderson had been mine once long ago!

  Boldly I stepped forward and took the chain between my fingers. Isnapped it, and held the ring. "Will you wear it again, my dear?"

  She held up her left hand for me to slip it on. "Steve," she breathed,"I've never stopped wearing it, not really."

  "But I didn't see it until now--"

  Jonas Harrison said, "No, Steve, you couldn't see it until youremembered."

  "But look--"

  "Blame me," he said in his firm determined voice. "The story begins andends with you, Steve. When Marian contracted Mekstrom's Disease, sheherself insisted that you be spared the emotional pain that the rest ofus could not avoid. So I erased her from your mind, Steve, and submergedany former association. Then when the Highways in Hiding came to take usin, I left it that way because Marian was still as un
attainable to youas if she were dead. If an apology is needed, I'll only ask that youforgive my tampering with your mind and personality."

  "Apologize?" I exploded. "I'm here, we're here, and you've just providedme with a way out of this mousetrap!"

  "A way out?" he murmured, in that absent way that telepaths have whenthey're concentrating on another mind. Fast comprehension dawned in thesharp brown eyes and he looked even more self-confident and determined.Marian leaned back in my arms to look into my eyes. "Steve," she cried,"it's simply got to work!" Gloria Farrow merely said, "He'll have tohave medication, of course," and went briskly to a wall cabinet andbegan to fiddle with medical tools. Howard Macklin and Jonas Harrisonwent into a deep telepathic conference that was interrupted only whenJonas Harrison turned to Phillip to say, "You'll have to provide us withuninterrupted time, somehow."

  Marian disengaged herself reluctantly and started to propel me out ofthe room. "Go help him, Steve. What we are going to do is not for anynon-telepath to watch."

  Outside, Phillip threatened me with the guard's signal-box key. "Mindtelling a non-telepath what the devil you cooked up?"

  I smiled. "If your father has the mental power to erase Marian from mymind, he also has the power to do a fine reorientation job on ScholarPhelps. Once we get the spiderwebs cleaned out of the top dog, we startdown the pyramid, line by line and echelon by echelon, with eachreoriented recruit adding to our force. Once we get this joint operatingon the level, we can all go to work for the rest of the human race!"

  * * * * *

  There is little left to tell. The Medical Center and the Highways inHiding are one agency dedicated to the conquest of the last and mostpuzzling of the diseases and maladies that beset Mankind. We are nocloser to a solution than we ever were, and so I am still a very busyman.

  I have written this account and disclosed our secret because we want nomore victims of Mekstrom's Disease to suffer.

  So I will write finish with one earnest plea and one ray of hope:

  Please do not follow one of our Highways unless you are alreadyinfected. Since I cannot hope to inoculate the entire human race, andwill not pick or choose certain worthy types for special attention, Iwill deal only with those folks who find Mekstrom's Disease among theirimmediate family. Such people need never be parted from their lovedones. The rest of you will have to wait your turn.

  But we'll get to it sooner or later. Thirty days ago, Steve, Junior, wasborn. He's a healthy little Mekstrom, and like his pappy, Steve Junioris a carrier, too.

  * * * * *

  [Transcriber's note: Back cover]

  QUEST IMPOSSIBLE

  Someone had stolen an important part of Steve Cornell's life.

  It was bad enough when his fiancee vanished. It was infinitely worsewhen everyone in the world insisted it couldn't have happened the way heknew it had.

  In a world where ESP and telepathy were normal, it was difficult to keepsecrets. But Steve's search for his missing sweetheart brought him tothe threshold of one of the greatest secrets of all time. And it wasobvious that somebody would stop at nothing to keep him from uncoveringit.

  What were the oddly sinister symbols along otherwise ordinary roads?What was behind the spreading plague called Mekstrom's Disease? Why werethere "blank" spots where telepathy didn't work? Who was the elusiveenemy with powers even beyond those ESP had bestowed on mankind?

  And, most important of all ... could Steve find that enemy before theymade him vanish too?

  A Lancer Book . Never Before Complete In Paperback