Seeker

by William Nicholson

  The professor drew Soren Similin past the table to a stand in one corner, where other members of the team were gathered round. There, draped over a clothes hanger, was a strange baggy garment, dripping moisture onto the floor. It was a sleeveless jacket, sewn in sections like a quilt, and each section was sagging under the weight of its contents.

  "It came to me in the night," said the professor. "Of course, it's only a demonstration model. The actual jacket would have to be fully waterproof."

  Soren Similin studied the dripping garment. He knew at once that it was useless, but he also knew he must tread very carefully. The professor was an outlander like himself, but of far higher status. He had gained great distinction in the academies of Radiance, and was now its most eminent scientist; but he was also a proud man who took offence easily. Professor Ortus believed himself to be not only the leader of the team, but the sole creator of the remarkable device that had taken shape in the former exercise yard. This suited Soren Similin very well. He sought no glory; he wanted no credit for scientific invention. He was happy to remain unnoticed, in the background.

  "Fascinating!" he exclaimed. "What a fertile mind you have, Professor."

  "The demonstration model is filled with plain water only, of course. It holds exactly four liters. More than sufficient for the task."

  "The perfect quantity," said Soren Similin. "And, I would guess, no heavier to wear than a thick winter coat. Has anyone tried it on?"

  He asked as if it were a matter of no more than idle curiosity. Ortus signalled to one of his juniors.

  "Put it on. Stand where we can see you."

  The junior stood in the light of the main lamps, and the professor studied the effect, frowning. Similin looked down. He knew he need say no more. Not only did the bulging jacket attract immediate attention, it caused even the idlest observer to wonder what was stuffed inside it.

  "Ah," said Ortus, his excitement fading.

  "You think it might give rise to suspicion?" said Similin in his soft voice.

  "It might."

  "I'm afraid you may be right. Never mind. We keep thinking."

  "Keep thinking!" In his disappointment, the scientist allowed his frustration to show. "I've been thinking day and night! I've prayed to the Radiant Power above for illumination, but it's got me nowhere. I tell you, it's impossible!"

  "Nothing is impossible," said the secretary, "to a mind as brilliant as yours."

  "Where has brilliance got me?"

  "Now, please, Professor! I won't hear that! Who has done all this? Who has found a way to take the power of the sun and store it in liquid form?"

  He gestured at the apparatus that surrounded them, from the simple bottle of water, up past the pipes and the tubes, to the glazed roof above, through which the moon was now shining.

  "True," said Ortus, recovering his spirits a little. "It is, I admit, a historic breakthrough. Some might call it a triumph of pure scientific discovery. Not that anyone knows about it yet."

  "Patience, Professor. The world will learn of your historic breakthrough when it is perfected. We have one last difficulty to overcome."

  "One last impossibility!" cried the scientist in exasperation.

  Soren Similin believed he had the answer. But it suited him to lead the proud scientist to suppose he was making this final discovery for himself.

  "I have only the mind of a common man, Professor," he murmured. "I have none of your brilliance and originality. But I can listen and repeat. Perhaps if I were to remind us all of the elements of the problem, your keen intellect will cast some new illumination on our dilemma."

  "I've been over it and over it," said the scientist with a sigh.

  "Then for my own benefit, perhaps. To make sure I understand the situation, before I make my next report to the king."

  "To the king. Yes, of course. Very well."

  "First, the achievements." The secretary ticked the list off on his fingers. "You and your team have found a way to store the energy of the sun in plain water, in sealed containers."

  "I have named it 'charged water,'" said Ortus with some pride.

  "An apt name, Professor. This 'charged water' can be made to release its energy in the form of an explosion. A large enough quantity, we believe, could achieve our objective, which is to destroy the island of Anacrea."

  "Four liters or more."

  "Just so. And here is the brilliance of your discovery. The 'charged water' is harmless so long as it remains sealed. Once exposed to the air, the explosion is triggered. This means the weapon can be carried safely onto the island, then triggered at the time of the carrier's choice."

  "Yes, yes, yes!" cried Ortus. "But that's where it all falls down! The island is closed to outsiders. It is watched and defended. How is the weapon to be carried onto the island? In the night, unable to sleep, I thought of the water-filled jacket. But look at it! It's laughable!"

  "Allow me, Professor," said Soren Similin in his most soothing voice. "Allow me, in my slow and plodding way, to list the obstacles that are still in our path."

  Once more he ticked them off on his fingers.

  "These so-called Noble Warriors do have certain limited powers, which have enabled them to repel direct attack, even by imperial axers. So our new strategy is to smuggle a massive bomb onto the island. Anacrea is a closed island, as you say; except, of course, to those who live there. Once a year only, for one day, it is opened to pilgrims. However, all pilgrims are searched. They are not permitted to carry bags. The holy places are watched over at all times by the Nomana. How, then, can our carrier convey our bomb—four liters of charged water in a sealed container—into the heart of the Nom?"

  "That's the question! We all know the question. But who can come up with an answer?" The scientist threw a hopeless glance round his attendant team.

  Similin reworded the problem, as if to aid their deliberation.

  "Where could a carrier hide four liters of charged liquid so perfectly that the Nomana would never find it?"

  "Where indeed? He can't drink it. The stomach can't hold four liters."

  "If only," murmured the secretary, "the body had hollow passages capable of storing liquid in all its parts. In the arms ... in the legs ... in the—"

  "By the Sun!" cried Ortus. "I've got it!"

  "Got what, Professor?"

  "Blood!"

  "Blood, Professor?"

  "Blood! Blood!" cried the scientist, his excitement mounting. "Why didn't I think of that before? The body is a sealed container within which flows more than four liters of liquid, in the form of ... blood!"

  "Remarkable!" said the secretary. "It takes a genius to see something so simple."

  "We'd have to modify the apparatus, of course." Ortus was now talking aloud to himself. "A system to pass the blood through the charging vessels. I see no insuperable problem there."

  "So the blood would be charged, as you have charged the water?"

  "Yes, yes. Let me think. Yes, it can be done! Sun be praised! What can match the heady joys of pure science! Method, persistence, a dash of genius, and—success! But of course, we must run a test, to be sure."

  "You propose, in short, to make a human bomb."

  "A human bomb? Yes, if you like. First we must run a test. We'll need a test subject, of course."

  Soren Similin was satisfied. He had achieved his objective. Now he could slip into the background.

  The scientist was energized by his breakthrough and eager to get to work. He started to bark orders at his team.

  "You! Find a way to put a return flow on the assembly; I want a pumped circuit. You! Make me a good strong chair. You can cut wood, can't you? You! Figure out the inlets and outlets. Not as simple as it looks. No air contact, remember! This is still a sealed system."

  Soren Similin headed for the door.

  "When do you expect to be ready for the test, Professor?"

  "Soon! Very soon! Tomorrow. End of the day. We don't need sleep, do we, boys?"

 
The members of the team grinned and shook their heads. The excitement had infected them all.

  "You just bring us a subject. We'll do the rest."

  "Very good, Professor."

  "Oh, and make sure he's a strong one." Professor Ortus was back in control, demonstrating by his commanding tone of voice that the king's secretary was no more than a minor member of his team. "He'll need to be fit and healthy and strong to take the load we're going to put on him."

  "I'll do my best," said Soren Similin.

  13. A Scientific Success

  ON THE FAR SIDE OP THE CITY, IN THE WARREN OF ALleys that lay between the meat market and the lakeshore, there were cheap rooms to sleep in and cheap bars to drink in, and it was here that the transient population of unskilled workers, petty criminals, and drunks was to be found. Here the elegance and opulence of the imperial city gave way to stinking tenements, where the occupants defecated openly in the gutters. So it was here that Soren Similin went the next day in search of what he needed.

  He could have commanded one of the prisoners held in the tanks to be handed over to him: his authority from the king certainly extended that far. But the wretches in the tanks were mostly spikers who had been caught seeking work in the city without permits and had been half starved even before their arrest. Also the secretary did not want the priests who picked out the daily tribute from the tanks to start sniffing round him, asking questions. So he had decided to buy what he needed, on the black market.

  Soren Similin made it his business to be well-informed. He knew a trade existed that supplied tributes to the leading families of Radiance so that they could present offerings on their name days. In the past, all tributes had been prisoners captured alive in battle, and the offering of a tribute had been a sign of prowess. But the days of such wars were long gone. Radiance was too rich and too powerful to require its prominent citizens to wield a sword themselves. So when a wealthy magnate wished to impress the king by offering a tribute, he had to go and buy one.

  The king's secretary made his way to the infamous hostel known as the Ham Bone. There he sat himself down at a table in the crowded courtyard and called for beer. When the drink came, he held the bar-boy's hand and said, "I'm here to do business."

  The bar-boy nodded and left. The secretary drank his beer and waited patiently. After a while two unremarkable men sidled up and sat on the bench facing him.

  "We're told you want to do business, Captain."

  Similin nodded.

  "And what would be your desire?"

  In such a place, in such company, Soren Similin did not bother to pretend humility. He spoke briskly and to the point.

  "Male. Strong. Prime condition."

  The two men looked at each other and mimed astonishment.

  "You hear that, Sol?"

  "I do hear."

  "Wouldn't you call that a coincidence?"

  "Like the captain had read our minds."

  "We brought just such a one in, only yesterday. Male, you say. Strong, you say. Prime condition, you say." He leaned across the table and exhaled his brandy-smelling breath at Similin. "What do you say to an axer?"

  "An axer!"

  "Retired, of course. But not long retired. A great big bull of a man!"

  "How much?"

  "For a perfect specimen like that? Five thousand shillings."

  Soren Similin stood up, as if to go.

  "I'll give you five hundred."

  The two traders got up from the bench together, shaking their heads and sighing.

  "We wouldn't want to waste your time, Captain."

  The secretary spoke with menacing softness.

  "That was not a request."

  He drew out his royal medallion. The traders' faces went white. The king's power was absolute, even in this sordid corner of the city.

  "You should have said, Captain. Always happy to oblige a servant of the king."

  "Where is this man?"

  "Right now? Right now, I'd say he's resting after his travels. Wouldn't you say, Sol?"

  "Fast asleep, Captain."

  "You mean he's drugged."

  "You'd have done the same, Captain. He would keep wriggling and roaring."

  "I'll send a cart for him. Be sure to have him ready."

  It took four young men from Professor Ortus's team to carry the doped axer into the laboratory. They complained loudly all the way.

  "That's enough!" chided Ortus. "True science is hard work. Great Sun! He's magnificent!"

  Barban lay on a stretcher, his wrists and ankles bound, his mouth gagged. He was awake but too drugged to do more than roll his eyes. It took the combined efforts of everyone in the team to heave him off the stretcher and into the chair. Once there, they cut his bonds and strapped his arms and legs tightly to the chair, which was itself bolted securely to the floor.

  Soren Similin looked on, noting the additions that had been made to the apparatus. In the twenty-four hours that had passed since he had left them, the team had made impressive progress. Above the chair, itself a piece of new work, there hung an iron-and-rubber harness, from which dangled thin rubber pipes and straps, clips, and needles.

  "I would never have believed it was possible," he said. "You truly are miracle workers."

  Ortus didn't reply. He was examining the big man in the chair. Barban sat lolling forward, unable to control his posture. The scientist passed one hand back and forth in front of the axer's eyes. There was no reaction.

  "He's very heavily drugged," he said.

  "Is that a problem?"

  "In this condition, he's incapable of obeying even the simplest instructions."

  "Does that mean you can't carry out the test?"

  "Oh, the test won't be a problem. We have him entirely under our control. But when it comes to the real thing, we're going to need a carrier with his wits about him."

  "Then, that is what we will find," said Soren Similin.

  That and more, he thought to himself. He had known from the very first moment he had solved the final problem that the carrier would have to be a volunteer—and a very special kind of volunteer. He said none of this aloud.

  "But for now, Professor, you can proceed?"

  "Certainly. I'm extremely curious to know if my theories will be proved correct in practice."

  "I'm sure they will, Professor," purred the secretary. "You've not been wrong yet."

  The harness was lowered onto Barban's slumped shoulders and strapped in place. The fine needles were inserted into the axer's neck and arms and connected to the dangling rubber tubes. Professor Ortus himself then checked every connection to be sure the seal was unbroken. Then he gave a brisk nod, and the charging process began.

  The machine made a soft roaring sound. The pipes and tubes began to quiver and throb. The drugged axer stiffened but gave no sign of resistance. He seemed not to be in any pain.

  Ortus watched intently.

  "The subject's blood is now passing through the charged gases," he reported.

  One of the juniors began to feel uneasy. Something about the experiment troubled him.

  "Professor," he said, "I think there may be some aspect we haven't checked."

  Ortus frowned. This was no time to discover mistakes in the experimental process. On the other hand, he always stressed to his team that science was built on evidence, and evidence was the product of close and unremitting attention to detail.

  "Yes, yes. What is it?"

  The junior wasn't sure himself. He struggled to express his niggling doubt.

  "The test subject," he said. "I mean, does he—can we—is he—"

  "Is he in perfect condition?" snapped the professor. "No, not at all. But we can allow for that."

  "What I meant, Professor, was—well—is it all right?"

  "Is what all right?"

  "I mean—from his point of view."

  "His point of view? That is not our concern."

  He turned to check the state of the big axer strapped in the chair.
To Similin he said, "Now, you see. The charged blood is reentering his body."

  Then, to settle the mind of his troubled junior,

  "If we don't do this, others will. Do we want this great power in the hands of others? Think what destruction that could unleash! It could mean the end of the world as we know it! Whatever you or I do, science marches on. We have a duty to follow the flame of knowledge wherever it leads. To carry the torch—to make what sacrifices must be made—to serve and protect and enlighten."

  The axer uttered a long gurgling groan. His mouth opened and shut, and his legs shook. The team of scientists crowded round.

  "He's not going to be able to take much more."

  Barban started to vibrate violently. His eyes protruded from his head. His tongue lolled out.

  "All right. That'll do."

  The team shut down the pumps and unharnessed the axer. They wore thick soft gloves and handled him with care.

  "How long was that?"

  "Twelve minutes, Professor."

  "Not as long as I had hoped."

  "Will it be sufficient, Professor?" asked the secretary.

  "We are about to find that out."

  The test site was in an abandoned quarry on the far side of the belt of sunflower fields. Here, surrounded by craggy stone cliffs, was a broad rock-strewn area into which Ortus and the team carried the shivering axer, lighting their way with lanterns. In the center an iron post had been hammered into the ground. To this they tethered their test subject—not that he showed any signs of trying to run away. He slumped to the ground and lay there, shuddering. A dozen or so other iron posts across the quarry had cows tethered to them. The cows lowed anxiously as members of the team went from post to post lighting the torches fixed on their tops.

  "Cows?" said Soren Similin.

  "Part of the test."

  When everything was in place, Ortus, the secretary, and the rest of the team retreated to a base located behind a shield of rock. The professor then turned to the junior who had expressed doubts back in the laboratory.