“The experiment was tried more than a hundred times, and each time the results were the same. It was tried but with a thin sheet of quartz interposed and again the results were the same. But when a thin sheet of glass was used, or when the quartz was coated with gelatin, the effect ceased. Now, you all know that quartz is transparent to ultra-violet rays—while glass and gelatin are opaque—” He paused.
The others stirred amazedly and stared at the young scientist.
“From all these considerations,” continued Cole, “they concluded that the influence might be an ultra-violet radiation generated by the cells of the sender. Since it was the increasing rate of mitosis that had betrayed the emissions, they were named mitogenetic rays. Gentlemen, I'm of the opinion that our city is being bombarded with some new and extremely powerful form of these mitogenetic rays. All the evidence points to it . . .”
“How about the hot-houses?” called Dunn.
“That, too. Queens Hospital happens to have plain glass hot-houses. Ordinary glass, like gelatin, blocks off mitogenetic rays. Those men, the organizers of the man who calls himself the Healer, wear gelatin uniforms ... obviously to protect themselves from these mitogenetic rays. Last of all, our search has shown that these rays emanate from a common focal point.” He held up the map. “A point at Black Tor, some twenty miles above New York on the Hudson. I don't know what the Healer is using for his murderous work, but one thing is self-evident. We've got to get up there and destroy it!”
There followed a chaotic half hour while men were selected and the little arms and ammunition they possessed were distributed. At last sixteen in all assembled in the dining room for a last word before setting out.
“We've got to get through,” Cole told them. “The Healer is broadcasting death and destruction from Black Tor. If we can smash him, the entire campaign will collapse. Remember that we'll accomplish more if we're cautious. Stop off in New York and pick up all the weapons you can use. If you get the chance to hijack a man's uniform, do it.”
“Why not manufacture our own out of gelatin before we go up there?” asked Simmons.
“Not enough time, in the first place. In the second, this may be a special gelatin-fabric that may take too long to duplicate.”
“But why get suits at all?”
“Dunn and I have agreed that our immunity results from some unknown skin quality which affords mechanical protection to the mitogenetic rays. But as we approach the source of the emanations they'll grow tremendously stronger—remember the law of inverse squares—strong enough perhaps to break through our normal skin protection. We can't even take that chance. All right, now! No more discussion.
Take any route north you like . . . but be at Chanceville, just below Black Tor, by five o'clock!”
CHAPTER IV
Men in White
IT was four-thirty when Cole reached Chanceville, and two of the other cars were already waiting on the turnpike. The trip up had been horrible, for the closer they approached the source of the barrage, the more horrible the distortions of men and growths had become.
“Hey—look at the Tor!” Dunn pointed excitedly as the black peak loomed up in the distance. A thin, almost imperceptible radiance played in a halo around the tip, a radiance of subtle pastels. It flickered and swayed like dancing fire imps. For long minutes the two men stared, fascinated. At last Cole snapped his fingers.
“Five o'clock,” he said. “Can't wait any longer. Let's get on.”
In single file the twelve men paced noiselessly down the road. A hundred yards beyond the cars they came to a turn and presently sighted the outlying homes of the town. It was getting light quite rapidly and there was an urgent need to get past the barracks before they were seen.
They were almost past the big town hall that Simmons pointed out as the barracks when the interruption came. Three white-clad sentinels rounded a corner and started at the sight of men but a few feet away. One cried: “Halt !” and fumbled at a holster. The others darted forward, yanking at their belts.
Cole swung up the rifle he was carrying and swung it butt-foremost in a mighty arc that cracked sickeningly against the head of the leader. He went down with a coughing grunt and rolled against the legs of the second who tripped and fell. The remaining man let out a frightened howl and fired his revolver blindly before a shot from behind Cole dropped him in his tracks.
But at that instant the barracks disgorged a thin stream of uniformed men who closed in on them.
“This way!” yelled Cole. He turned and sprinted into a narrow lane between two houses. The others followed. Behind him Cole heard blows and struggling bodies. Then he was in a backyard. Lithely, he vaulted a high board fence. He dropped down on the other side and waited until he was followed by another figure in white, Dunn. “Where're the others?” he whispered.
DUNN motioned with his head to ward the barracks. They set off at a low crouching run until they were clear of the town and then straightened to take the steep road that led to the mountain top. The half-light of the dawn brightened rapidly and high above them loomed Black Tor. Through the trees they could make out the glint of metal, the outlines of a giant structure poised at the tip of the peak. Still they tore up the jagged, twisted mountain until at last they sighted a high barbed-wire fence. It was close-meshed, heavy and over ten feet high, braced with rough steel stanchions set in concrete piers. A hundred yards above the fence, masked by wild bushes, was a high-towered stone mansion that looked like a medieval observatory. At the top was an all too modern turret of twentieth century metal. There was only one gate to the fence in view, at the head of the road, and that was guarded by a squad of ten men.
“How in blazes are we going to get through?” muttered Cole. “We can't take any chances. Want to bluff?”
“I can get you in,” answered Dunn. “Listen—”
They held a whispered conference, then Dunn took the rifle and crept into the forest alongside the road. In a few minutes a shot rang out as he began a miniature war with the guards before the gate.
Taking advantage of the excitement, Cole dashed up to the fence. He listened to the excited reports of the guards, peered in the direction of the unknown assailant, then nodded and dashed up the slope toward the tower as if running for aid. He yanked open the heavy oak door and slammed it shut behind him, breathing deeply in pretended relief.
As he looked around the small anteroom in which he found himself, he heard a step. An officer thrust aside a curtain and entered.
“What the hell's the trouble out there?” snapped the officer.
“There's an attack on the tower, sir.” The officer started and turned to bark a command to the guards in the room behind him. Cole took a quick step and jabbed the muzzle of his revolver into the officer's back.
“All right,” he said tersely, “tell them to back up against the walls.” The officer hesitated and felt the gun prod him fiercely. He gave the command. Cole shoved the man before him and stepped quickly across the guard room until he reached the closed door at the far side. He swung the officer around, reached for the knob and opened it a fraction. Then he yanked open the door, darted through swiftly and banged it shut behind him.
To the right he saw a flight of stone steps. He darted up them. Behind him the door burst open and a shot cracked out as the officer dashed after him. Cole reached the turn in the stairs and pelted on up until he was at the first landing. Below him came the trample of pursuit. He half stumbled up the remaining flight to the first floor as the others came around the turn.
Another shot and a cry from below, then he was through a door and had slammed it behind him.
There was no key in the lock. He turned to see a bewildered man in uniform arise from a radio control board and snatch a pair of ear-phones off his head.
“Trouble!” cried Cole hoarsely. He nodded his head toward the door. “You've got to hold them off for awhile. I'm going up to report.”
The radio operator nodded and pointed through the contr
ol room. Cole dashed on to a narrow spiraling sweep of iron steps and went clanging up their twisting heights. He heard the dim repercussions of splintering wood down there and savage shouting. Then bullets were whamming and whining through the metal girder-work.
Cole thought his heart was going to burst with the strain of plunging up those incredibly steep stairs.
Then he had reached a small platform beyond which were two curtained doors. He paused for a moment in indecision, wondering whether to dart in or continue his flight up the twining stairs toward the tower's top. But many feet were crashing on the metal and he was sure they might wing him before he reached the top.
Cole turned to the right and jumped through the door into a large room, lined with windows on one side. He darted over for a look down and saw he was high above the ground. He looked around wildly.
This was some kind of biological lab. No place to hide here.
He continued through two other rooms and then found himself in another laboratory. Long tables were laden with microscopes and a huge condenser glittered in the bright morning sunshine. The uproar of the pursuit was swelling behind him and before him, until he felt he was surrounded with sound. The door at the far end was locked. He turned the key carefully and peered out. Then his heart sank as he realized something abruptly. The tower was round, of course. He had sped around the periphery of rooms and come back to the same iron landing!
The stairs were covered with guards, crowded together, talking and gesticulating. Fresh men were squirming up the stairs from below, asking questions, telling about the skirmish outside, hearing about the crazy guy within. Behind him Cole heard the pursuers dashing through the laboratory. He took a breath, opened the door softly and slipped through, the key still in his hand.
He stood, back to door, and fumbled desperately to press the key home and twist it. After a moment's work he caught the key in the slot. As steps ran forward inside, he twisted it and felt the door quiver under an onslaught of knocks.
“It's locked, sir,” he called.
“I know that, you blasted fool!” came the officer's voice. Other guards crowded up behind him to listen. He slipped the key out again and tucked it up the sleeve of his uniform.
“What shall we do, sir?” asked Cole. “There's no key out here.”
“I know that, too,” snapped the officer impatiently. “Some of you come inside to search. He must be here. The rest watch those steps.”
Cole turned and looked at the other guards. They shrugged and sauntered lazily through the open door.
“Hey,” a voice called — a familiar voice. “We ought to watch the top of them stairs, huh?” Cole stared and almost fainted from the shock.
“Right!” he managed to call. “Come with me. We'll go above.”
They pushed through the crush and took stations a few yards up the spiral staircase. Cole trembled with anxiety until they were a little byond earshot.
“For heaven's sake,” he whispered from the corner of his mouth, “how did you do it?”
“Simple,” answered Dunn. “You sent out scouts. I pretended I was one, too. I hunted around for myself for awhile and then reported back to the gate. Then we all heard the trouble inside and I came on up. One nice thing about a uniform. If you've got it on your best enemy won't know you.”
“I'm glad to see you,” whispered Cole fervently. “Come on, let's sneak aloft. There's not much time.”
Carefully they backed up the stairs, a step at a time, until they were concealed by the mesh and intermesh of iron grid-work. Then they turned and ran swiftly up until they reached the head where a guard already stood before a heavy metal panel.
“Guard change,” said Cole. The man saluted, started down. They waited until he disappeared and then tried the panel. It slid aside weightily. They passed through into a small hatchway. Barring the door, they mounted the hatch and came up to a broad open floor of polished glass, covered with apparatus.
“This,” gasped Dunn, “must be it! The machine that's responsible for the plague!”
CHAPTER V
The Healer
Suddenly they were aware of the thundering drone and the crackling discharges. The tower head, almost twenty feet in diameter, was filled with what appeared to be a giant gun or electrode. It reared up from the floor, from a welter of smaller mechanical adjustments, coils and wires, like a mechanical imitation of a prehistoric mastodon. The insulated masonry supports were like great haunches.
A nightmare of contacts, switchpoints and tube dischargers, it resembled a barrel-like body, and an ovate steel head lengthened to a short ugly muzzle.
The thing was pointing south, and it shook and trembled in the droning roar of its power. They could see serried ranks of Coolidge tubes discharging and glowing, hear the whispered force of the muzzle emanation, smell the overpowering odor of ionization.
“God!” breathed Cole, “what a thing!” He stepped forward instinctively, followed by Dunn. Suddenly a voice behind them cried out:
“Stop, you blasted idiots!”
A huge man, in uniform, stood at a small archway behind them.
“How many times do I have to warn you?” he shouted angrily. “You can't go within ten feet of, that projector unless you want to fry. And what the hell are you doing up here?”
“Can't tell you in this noise, sir,” called Cole.
“All right, come into the workshop.” The man stood to one side, a massive figure in the bulky hooded uniform, while they passed into a small work-lab. Then he slammed shut the thick door and faced them.
“Well,” he demanded sharply, “what do you want? I gave orders I was not to be disturbed.”
Cole stood silent for a breath, his fingers trembling on the butt of his revolver. Then he sighed quite audibly and looked up.
“Oh worshipful Healer,” he said bitterly, “I'm the bearer of evil tidings. On second thought, Mr.
Miller, you'd better remove the mask!”
The world seemed to stand still. They heard the rumble of the projector through the heavy door, and Miller drew in several sharp breaths. Then, with the violence of a volcanic eruption, he went into action.
His arms flung out and seized little Dunn by arm and shoulder and half threw him into Cole's body.
As the two men reeled back he turned and yanked at the heavy work-lab door. He was halfway through before Cole managed to disentangle himself and leap in pursuit.
Cole caught up with Miller beyond the archway and threw himself at the latter's flying legs. His shoulder clipped against the calves, bringing the big man down with a crash. Cole scrambled forward on hands and knees and clinched with Miller, and the two, clawing and pummeling, strained to their feet.
They stood, feet planted, trading punches savagely for almost a minute. Then there was a flicker of white at Cole's side and a whirl of arms.
Miller cried out and staggered back. He teetered for an instant and staggered back another few feet.
The projector roared up suddenly and his body stiffened like a puppet jerked by a string.
There came a series of crackling discharges and a violet aura played around Miller's body while his limbs danced and twitched in a mad jig. Slowly he began to crumble and brown, and his body sank to the polished floor.
The reek of roasting flesh filled the chamber. The two men turned sickly and ran back into the lab.
“What did you do?” asked Cole at last.
“What I had to.” Dunn shook his head. “While you were punching him I sneaked around and cracked his skull open with the rifle.”
Cole nodded and sat for awhile. “How'd you know it was Miller?” Dunn queried after awhile.
“Tell you later.” Cole pulled himself together. “Right now we've got to destroy that machine completely. Otherwise they might be able to get it back into action in a few hours.”
“Well?”
Cole paced around the laboratory and thought desperately. He picked up a few reagent bottles, read their labels and sm
iled slowly.
“Did you know,” he began absently, “I was almost busted out of Columbia for—”
“For what?”
“Never mind now.” Cole hunted around the room for equipment with revitalized energy. “I've got a tough job for you, Dunn. Go below and bring me a guard. If you can't get the guard, at least get a uniform. An extra uniform, get it?”
Dunn was out of the lab in a flash and tumbling down the hatchway. He slid aside the outer panel and peered down the stairs. Through the crosshatch he was able to discern a solitary guard mounted at the lower landing where the search for Cole was still in disgruntled progress. Evidently most of the men had already been sent below.
He tiptoed down until he was a few yards distant, then gradually craned over the edge of the balustrade, swinging his rifle by the muzzle at the end of his arm. The butt hung a few feet behind the guard's head. Dunn flexed his wrist fiercely and swished the heavy pendulum forward. The guard crumpled with a clash of equipment to the steps. Instantly, Dunn leaped down the last few yards, heaved the inert body to his shoulder, picked up the rifle, and tottered back up the stairs.
In the hatchway he threw down the unconscious man and ripped off his uniform. He slung the body outside the panel, slammed the door and dashed back up to the laboratory, carrying the rifle and the heavy folds of gelatinous material.
“Rip off the zippers and snaps,” said Cole, busied over retorts, “and macerate the material for me, will you?”
In a few moments it was ready. Cole placed the heavy stuff in a large beaker and boiled it gently until it was quite liquid. He set it to cool and turned back to his own work of gently spraying a colorless fluid into a small vat of fuming cloudy substance. Dunn sniffed the acrid bite of nitric acid.
AS Cole poured the contents of the vat into the beaker, they heard the clang of steps on the stair below, steps receding into the distance.
Selected Stories of Alfred Bester Page 33
