Sigma One

by Hutchison, William

  thought.

  The interview took less than twenty minutes during which Burt described his experiment and his medical problems; the latter he explained that he suspected as being directly related to his successful linking. On hearing this, Pat shuddered inside, but showed no outward signs of emotion. He did, however, comment on this last statement, lying through his teeth, saying that he thought Burt was mistaken on that account.

  Finally, Burt explained the underlying reason he was so obsessed with furthering his research going into full detail what a better place the world would be if other paraplegics like his brother Daniel could be given the gift of being taught how to link.

  Pat listened attentively to all that the young man had to say, and in part, felt that Grayson was a kindred spirit to himself being driven by goodness for other people's sake rather than his own selfish self-interests. It made him sad he would have to lie to him, but lie to him he did, promising him "a full research scholarship with no strings attached," (Just sign here said the used car salesman. No need to look under the hood. It runs fine and has never been in an accident) just as soon as some preliminary testing could be completed-testing which Pat planned to start immediately.

  CHAPTER 30

  Pat got up from his chair and put his hand around Burt's shoulder to make him feel more comfortable. (It didn't. It only made him feel worse.) He then cast a you'd-better-be-right-about-this-one glance toward Amanda who was still acting snubbed, her lower lip pouting slightly as she stood against the wall leering at him for the way she was being treated.

  "That's a pretty amazing story, Mr. Grayson and you seem to be one altruistic person," Pat slapped his back and moved toward the door.

  "Altruistic?" Burt didn't know what it meant.

  "Yeah," Pat said, "altruistic--giving of yourself in hopes of bettering others, charitable. Downright charitable."

  This was the first nice thing Mr. Huxley had said to him since they met and it chipped some of the ice off the heretofore cold feelings Burt was having toward him, such feelings caused by Huxley's evasiveness at Burt's attempts to find out more about him and his organization. Maybe Huxley wasn't such a bad guy after all, Burt thought. "Thanks, Mr. Huxley. I never really thought of myself as charitable. I just want to help my brother and others like him, that's all. I appreciate the opportunity you're giving me, really," Burt gushed, hoping for a reply.

  Pat said nothing.

  Burt tried to sound convincing and inside really did feel lucky to be getting this chance, but something was still bothering him. Something was wrong with the way Pat didn't even respond to his saying thanks. He didn't know why or how, but something was definitely w-r-o-n-g and his skin began to crawl as he simultaneously got a sinking sensation deep in the pit of his stomach as he watched Pat move toward the door.

  Amanda just sat there and yawned, seemingly unaware or uncaring how Burt was feeling. She was thinking, though. She was thinking what a fool Burt was and a little sorry for him, too. She had listened to what Pat had promised Burt, but she knew Pat's dodge. Grayson wouldn't be getting anything if he didn't pass the test.

  At that moment, Pat stepped over to the door and punched in his code and turned back and looked at Grayson and Amanda.

  "There's just one more thing we've got to do before we get you settled in and let you get started with your research." Pat dangled the bait, hoping Grayson would bite. He did.

  "What's that?" Burt asked feeling the sinking sensation in his stomach grow into a certifiable gut-wrenching belly ache. He knew it was too good to be true--that he'd be allowed to just waltz into this organization based on his word. He waited for Pat to give him the good news.

  While he waited, the vault door swung open and Pat stepped out into the corridor and then began to speak without turning around. His voice echoed slightly in the vacant hall and the words were a bit garbled and hard to understand, but the phrase "just a little test" came through very clearly. When Burt heard it, the small knot in his stomach quadrupled in size. He felt like he had swallowed a mixture of battery acid and cod liver oil and knew the test would probably involve him having to link and afterwards he might experience another blackout. This was just the thing he didn't want to go through at that particular point in time, but he was on the spot! If he were ever going to help his brother, he knew he'd have to link. This was no dress rehearsal, and this was one performance he would have to give flawlessly in spite of the post-performance consequences.

  Although part of him wanted the sensation of power and freedom he experienced after linking, (the part that loved the uninhibited, raw sense of energy which flowed through his body making him feel like he could kick Arnold Schwarzenegger's ass with one hand tied behind his back), the saner, meeker part of him (the geek/computer programmer, sissy Mr. Burt Grayson) knew the change in his personality wasn't good. No it wasn't good at all, in spite of what the old Elton John song said..."Get back honky cat, get back Oh, the change is gonna do you good.") Nope. Linking, Grayson knew was a long walk off a short pier, and he wasn't sure he wanted to take that walk, although he knew he had to if he were ever going to help Daniel.

  Pat took three more steps into the hallway and then turned. When he did, he was staring directly at Burt. He had purposefully not turned around earlier hoping that Burt would just fess up and admit he was a phony. Although Pat really wanted him to be able to do what he said he could do, inside he doubted that his luck was that good in spite of what Amanda had said about his ability and what Burt had professed earlier.

  Pat looked at Burt and then spoke. He could see his potential new employee looked ever-so-slightly agitated and wondered if Burt was indeed afraid to be tested. He decided to ask and be done with it. "You don't have any problem with a small test of your abilities before we sign the employment contract, do you?"

  Burt swallowed hard and took a deep breath. He didn't want his voice giving him away that he was afraid all right, but not of being tested. He knew he could link. It was what linking would do to him that he was afraid of and not the test itself, but if he told Huxley that he knew he'd be out the door 'in a heartbeat' so instead of telling him what he was afraid of, he decided it safer to act like nothing was wrong. He forced a smile and answered. "No sir. I don't have any problem at all. Let's get started." He tried to sound as confident as he could but he knew his voice was strained. All he could hope for was that Huxley didn't notice.

  Pat looked at Burt for no more than two seconds after he answered and then turned and proceeded down the hall. He could tell Burt was frightened by the tremor in his voice and cooing him that way made Pat uneasy, and he felt like calling the whole thing off right then. Why waste the time? Why put himself and Burt through the strain of the test? Why not just call Radcliff, cancel going to Vegas and let Walker take care of the Soviet? Why not just tell Grayson to check into a hotel, come back in the morning and test him then? When he flunked the test, which he would surely do, he could then put him on an airplane and be done with it. Then he could go about his business and Pat could do the same. Besides, maybe Grayson needed to be rested for proper results to be obtained in the test.

  All these questions raced through Pat's mind as he continued walking down the hall. Everything seemed to be pointing to delaying the inevitable testing: something inside Pat unconsciously was trying to justify, because he was so afraid that Burt would fail and with that failure, he'd be back to square one. At least if they put off testing until the next day, he would have one more day of hope. Testing immediately meant hope would be shattered just as soon.

  Pat got to the end of the corridor and turned around. Amanda and Burt were right behind him. He then extended his hand to the cypher lock on the wall and punched in the code for the lab. The vault door instantly responded by clanking open. He stepped into the well-lit room followed by Amanda and Burt, and as soon as he did, three lab technicians dressed in white lab coats came forward to meet him. He hoped they had finished the preparations. If the tests were going to be perf
ormed, then at least he hoped they would go off smoothly.

  "This is Mr. Grayson," Pat said turning to the technicians and then to Burt. He then looked at Burt who had joined him at his side.

  "Mr. Grayson, meet Doctors Jerome, Geoffries, and Stark. They'll be the ones who will be administering the test," he said and then stepped

  aside.

  Burt stood there frozen, unable to speak or move while he studied the three technicians standing in front of him. The first and older of the three, Dr. Jerome, was slightly built with thinning dark hair combed straight over his head to hide the circular bald spot which was right on top. Jerome's face was horribly wrinkled and hung on his skull like paper mache that was not quite dry and put on by a toddler in his first attempts at making a Halloween mask at school.

  Dr. Geoffries, the second technician, was short, perhaps five feet three, and nearly as round as he was tall. He had a full head of light brown hair which he parted in the middle and which fell evenly on all sides making him look as if his barber had used a bowl placed on his head and then cut only the hair which extended beyond the rim. He appeared about thirty-five years old.

  Dr. Stark, in his early twenties and the youngest of the three, was thin, like Jerome, but had a huge roman nose which took up half of his face. He had an extremely high forehead and wiry sprigs of disheveled bright red, unevenly cut locks which stuck out on both sides, like Bozo the clown. He also had a shiny bald runway of skin which extended from the top of his forehead and ran all the way to the back of his neck. To Burt, although still frozen with fear of what the three scientists had in store for him, the trio, because of their peculiar looks, reminded him of mutant copies of the three stooges, but he was unable to laugh or to smile at the similarity. Instead he just stood there while the Elton John melody, 'Get back, honkey cat 0000h, the change is gonna do you good,' kept running through his mind reminding him he would soon have to link.

  Burt's eyes were beginning to get glassy and his palms slightly wet when Dr. Jerome finally approached him and shook his hand as Pat finished the introductions. All Burt could do after this was utter an automatic, guttural "nice to meet all you all," (Mo, Larry and Curly). His greeting had all the sincerity of an Ollie North 'I don't recall what I was doing on the night of so and so,' with the money, but went unnoticed.

  Dr. Jerome pumped his arm up and down while the other two stood back and observed their newest subject, each doing their own version of Colombo sizing up a criminal, and each trying to determine what made Burt different from their previous linker (O'Shaunnesey), but neither seeing or taking notice of Burt's nervousness as he churned inside.

  Burt felt nauseous and could tell the technicians were scrutinizing him, but felt unable to stop the paranoia that was threatening to take him over, but as soon as trio turned their backs to him and returned to their computer consoles across the room, he began to slowly return to normal as his curiosity got the better of him.

  He watched as Dr. Jerome (Mo) finished giving instructions to Dr.'s Geoffries (Shemp) and Stark (Larry) and instead of the two apprentices fumbling and bumping into one another like the three stooges they resembled would have done, each moved confidently and quickly toward a stack of glassy three foot by three foot semi-opaque sheets of what appeared to be thick, heavy plastic. What these were or how they fit into the experiment he didn't know, but he continued watching as, one by one, they lifted each sheet and slid them vertically into the five wooden frames that lay in the center of the lab. With each new plate positioned, the two simultaneously grunted and then robotically went to the stack until they were done and the five "dark windows" stood in line. Pat Huxley, who had stood aside while the technicians readied the experiment, waited until the last window was in place and then turned to the tall Mosier safe which stood near the wall, spun the dial, opened it, and then pulled out a silvery metal sphere approximately a foot in diameter. He took the sphere and then placed it onto another wooden pedestal which stood directly in line with the windows.

  Burt stared at the sphere which looked to him like a metal bowling

  ball except for the series of bundles of wires which protruded from its surface in multiple places and which then terminated with a series of multi-pin plugs. Huxley took four of the wire bundles and sequentially plugged them into the side of a black box which was about nine inches on a side and which stood vertically by the pedestal on which the sphere was resting. He had no idea what it was Huxley was doing and watched with intent curiosity as Pat plugged the solitary electric cord emanating from the box into the wall socket. When he did, Burt heard an almost inaudible hum come from the box and sphere as it apparently activated. Aside from the low pitched sound which emulated the whirring of a small fan, the box gave no indication at all that it was on. There were no lights, no moving parts.

  Nothing.

  Huxley then came around to the front of the screens and positioned a large metal lab stool which had a bright copper wire running from one leg to the first screen until it was centered directly opposite the screens and was directly in line with the pedestal on which the sphere sat. He then knelt down and carefully adjusted the chair moving the legs just so that each touched the two red strips of tape on the floor which heretofore Burt hadn't noticed but on which his gaze was now locked.

  "There," Pat said standing up after the chair was in its apparent proper place. "I believe we can begin now," he continued as he turned to Burt and motioned for him to sit down.

  Burt looked at the chair for evidence of straps or seatbelts, but found none which quelled his fears of being seated in a "home-made 'lectric chair." While he moved cautiously to take his seat, the three scientist-stooges took their places in front of three computer monitors which he could see were connected to one another and to the screens and sphere as well.

  Burt then moved toward the chair and sat down as directed and then looked up at Pat for instructions. As he did, the music in his head began again, low at first and then increasing in intensity until it became a dull roar "Oh yeah, the change is gonna do you good " repeated over and over again as Burt readied himself for the test.

  Pat moved over to Burt and put his hand on his shoulder and then pointed through the screen toward the bowling ball and began to describe its function. "Okay, Mr. Grayson, here's the test. That sphere over there is a ship-board navigational computer like the kind that would guide a supertanker like the Valdez." (He was lying. It was an MX-missile guidance Inertial Navigation System, the sphere containing the reference gyros? the box, the nav computer.)

  "As I was saying, the missile. I mean the ship computer," Pat stumbled over his words to cover up his mistake and quickly looked back at Burt for a reaction. Receiving none, he continued first clearing his throat as an added precaution against discovery. "Uhhhhh, hhhh, the computer (emphasis) has a series of gyros and accelerometers in it which measure minute changes in the orientation of body to which they are mounted. The accelerometers produce an output signal which tells the guidance computer how much the ship is being accelerated and in which direction. Do you have that?" Pat asked wondering if Burt caught his slip up.

  Burt stared blankly ahead. His eyes were comparable to someone who had just been waked from a deep sleep, somewhat glassy and uninterested. His underarms were dripping sweat profusely making two dark rings which were slowly growing down the sides of his shirt. If he heard Pat, he didn't let on. Instead he continued staring.

  Pat moved in front of him and looked at his face for any sign that Burt had noticed. When he saw Burt's empty eyes he wasn't sure how to continue. Had Mr. Grayson heard? Was he just playing dumb? Why was he staring like he was?

  Finally Burt answered, "Uh, huh--ship computer. I --got it." His speech was slow and slurred, but certainly not accusative.

  Pat continued, still unsure of the nonplussed answer given him, but confident he was in the clear. "Okay, Mr. Grayson, here's what I want you to do. Inside the black box is a PROM--a programmable read only memory-which has a program sto
red in it. Inside the program is a series of forty-eight binary numbers. The program name is THRSTR which stands for thruster control. That should help you locate it. Are you following me?" Pat looked into his eyes which were still glazed over.

  In the same slurred speech, Burt answered, unblinking,"Uh, Uh....thruster control..in the black box.... forty eight.

  Pat didn't know what to make of him. If he didn't know any better, he would have sworn Grayson had been on a bender and was smashed, but the change had come on so suddenly. Inside his head a little voice spoke, "better cancel this test now, Pat. Subject ain't cooperative. Pick it up again tomorrow. Tomorrow'll be a better day." But Pat ignored his conscience and continued anyway. "Burt, here's what I want you to do," he said pointing in the direction of the screens. I want you to locate the PROM and read me the numbers, all forty-eight of them. That's step one." Pat figured that this would be a preliminary test of his skills, and just reading the numbers would be a good indication of how well-versed Mr. Grayson was with linking. He continued again, "have you got that?"