by James Axler
He slammed the door and was off again, sprinting ahead and up to the top story, Ryan and Krysty close on his heels. Another corridor, another door. But this one truly stopped them in their tracks.
Observed by two men with the obligatory clipboard, two couples were mating. There was no other word for it. They were coupled with no passion or tenderness, like livestock brought together for the sole purpose of reproduction, watched dispassionately as though by herdsmen. Two hard beds housed the couples. The men were on top, both pumping to a regular rhythm, while the women lay underneath. Occasionally, the right physical connection would cause a gasp or groan, but this wasn’t reflected in the serious and almost bored mien of the women.
One of the men gasped as he reached the point of no return, then waited for a moment before climbing off his partner. The woman made to move, but was stayed by one of the lab-coated men, who put down his clipboard and indicated that she tilt her pelvis, so that she was raised up. He timed her on a stopwatch, then nodded his consent that she lie flat once more. While this had occurred, the other man had also climaxed. His departure was followed by a similar procedure from the other lab-coated observer.
“Every step is taken to ensure a successful coupling,” Alex barked. “A good result is paramount, as you will find out.”
Krysty thought of the expression on Tod’s face and gave an involuntary shudder. They would have to move fast. She had no intention of having to find out.
FOR DOC AND Mildred, there wasn’t even the chance to see the sector headquarters, as they were interrupted in their passage by two women and a man who approached them from a side street.
“Wait,” commanded one of the women, in a voice that was shrill yet contained a note of authority. The sec guard immediately brought the party to a halt and stood silently while the woman approached and circled. She sniffed the air around them, then stepped back and said over her shoulder, “An interesting proposition? Yes, I think so.”
She beckoned her two companions forward. While she was dressed in black-and-white-check squares that resembled nothing so much as a chess board, her fellow female was in a spiral white on black—or it may have been the other way around—that drew the eyes in and disoriented if looked at for too long. Especially as it rippled when she moved. Doc, for one, found this to be the case, and he had to look away before nausea welled up in his throat.
The two women walked around, sniffing the air, craning their heads between the bodies of the sec party, so that with bizarre pecking motions they appeared to be almost attacking Doc and Mildred, who were trapped in the middle. They said nothing. Mildred glanced at Doc, one eyebrow raised quizzically. He smiled briefly, gave an even briefer shake of the head. Whatever was going on, they had to keep their nerve and their peace for the moment.
The women were an odd sight, in their monochrome-patterned clothes, the checkered woman short and thin, the spiral woman tall and fat. Even their flowing hair conformed, as the fat woman was jet-black, whereas her companion was gray almost to the point of being white.
Then the man, who had been lurking at the threshold of their orbit, stepped in. In contrast to the stark monochrome of his companions, the strawberry-blond man was dressed in clothes that had been tie-dyed in a variety of clashing colors.
“Fuzebow. Darlang. Kitta-kitta. Bwoow. Nit-nit-nit. Darlap? Darlang.”
“This where they keep the crazies, then?” Mildred asked mildly. “Or is this some kind of test? ’Cause I’m telling you, people, if it is, then it’s kind of tedious.”
“Especially the phonetic poetry. I always thought that was terrible idea, although I must confess I know little about it,” Doc added.
The three bizarrely dressed interlopers stepped back.
“They’re good,” the fat woman said grudgingly. “Whether they can keep it up, it’s for real, or they’re just bluffing is another matter.”
“Even if they’re just using bluff, it still shows a remarkable composure. Did you note the complete lack of surprise when we appeared? I would have expected a flicker of shock,” the man mused. “It is, after all, a usual response. Perhaps, then, we can say that they aren’t good, in the sense that they don’t fit the usual range of responses.”
“There was a look between them,” the thin woman said, addressing the man, but still looking squarely at Doc and Mildred. “So I’d say that they were actually surprised by our appearance—both literally, and in its suddenness—but they have learned to control reactions.”
“To meld the instinct and the rational,” the man said with an inclination of the head. “Have they been sent to the right place, then?”
“We’ll have to see,” the fat woman said with a more decisive tone. She addressed the sec guard, who had remained impassive throughout. “You can leave us. We’ll take it from here.” Then, as they turned and marched away, she held up a hand to forestall the question that she could see forming on Mildred’s lips. “I know. They didn’t react, so why should your reaction, which was a little different, be remarkable compared to theirs. Simple—the same sec personnel are always deputed to escort newcomers to this sector. They are trained for the purpose, so that they don’t affect the reactions of such as yourself with their own. You see?”
Mildred shrugged. “That answers that, I guess. But it’s far from the only question I have.”
“I’m sure it is,” the thin woman said. “All will become clear to you in time, if you have the wherewithal to comprehend. But that, of course, is part of the reason you are here.”
“Is it?” Mildred said slowly.
“Oh, yes. This sector may resemble almost all the others in the outward appearance of the buildings, but what goes on behind those doors—and indeed, out in the open in some cases—is far from similar.”
“I’m sure,” Mildred said flatly.
Doc, meanwhile, had been studying the terrain around them. Like most of the ville, there were a collection of buildings either intact, repaired or rebuilt in the style of the days before skydark. The sidewalks and roads were empty. No traffic. No people except themselves.
“Do you, perhaps, have some kind of personnel deficiency in this sector?” he asked mildly. “Perhaps a drought of people who may live up to your expectation and needs?”
“Ah,” the fat woman said, nodding, “sarcasm as a defense mechanism. Interesting.”
“Sarcasm? Yes.” Doc shrugged. “Defense? No, I would not say so myself. More a reaction against boredom. Games never much interested me, and you seem to be keen on them. I’d rather know what we are here for. And, of course, why the streets are so empty.”
The blond man stepped across and put an arm around Doc’s shoulders. He ignored the old man’s attempt to shrug it off.
“To take matters in reverse order. The streets are empty as the people who live in this sector are all engaged, either inside or in the play area. As for your first point… Well, Dr. Tanner, I’m afraid you’ll have to get use to games. One of the first things man did was learn to play. Play expresses all the desires and fears of man within safe confines. It allows us all to express ideas and work out dilemmas without harm to one another. It is how we learn, and how we can change.”
Was it Doc’s imagination, or was there something about the intonation of that last word that caused him alarm? He decided to keep his peace for the moment, and to keep his face poker-straight.
“Now, come with us,” the man said more briskly, “and you will see something of what we do here.”
“You will be allocated quarters shortly,” the fat woman added in her shrill tones. “But first, it would be useful for you to see something of our work, and the work to which you are expected to contribute.”
“Useful for who?” Mildred asked.
No answer was forthcoming. Instead the three bizarrely dressed people moved off, leaving Doc and Mildred standing. Figuring that part of the process—whatever that may prove to be—was about working out what was expected from them and adjusting accordingly, they f
ollowed without a word.
The trio set them a brisk pace, and it was only a short while before they had navigated the maze of side streets that led to an open space that extended over a vacant lot the size of one block. Around the edges sat a number of men and women of varying age and race, paired on benches across from each other, a table between each of them. The center of each table was carved in dark and light woods, forming a permanent board. The pairs were poring over carved pieces that were laid out on the squares. Although Doc and Mildred could see, as they passed, that the carvings varied from primitive to ornate, indicating that they had been cobbled together or made however was possible. But there was no mistaking what they were.
“Chess?” Mildred couldn’t help but express her surprise. “It’s been a long time since I saw a chess set, let alone see people play like this.”
She realized as soon as she spoke that she had said too much. Doc shook his head, brow furrowed, but it was too late. Their guides to this sector were too sharp.
“You have seen such things? Where? Where else do they play like this? We believed it was only in predark times that people gathered in this way to play chess.” The fat woman was shrill and insistent.
Mildred shrugged. “It was a while ago—shit, where was that? We’ve traveled so much, that—”
“Why do you value chess, of all games, so highly?” Doc interrupted, trying to pull her out of the hole.
“Because of its logical progression. The mental exercise in assessing possibility and chance. The way in which it encourages you to assess the psychology of your opponent, to think in lateral ways as well as logical. It is the perfect mental training.” The thin woman took responsibility for answering, but it was apparent from the way that she was looking at Mildred as she spoke that she was as intrigued as her colleague.
“That’s very interesting,” Doc replied mildly. He doubted, for himself, that a game could fulfill those functions. But their belief was perhaps very telling.
“Don’t think you have distracted us,” the man said softly, “but it can wait. First, we want you to see this.” He beckoned them to quicken their pace and follow.
Threading between the tables and the players, who seemed barely to register their presence, so intent were they on their games, they made their way through to the middle of the open space. While all around was sparse grassland, this center section was made of concrete. It was set out in a series of squares, intersected with zigzag lines. Circles lined the outside of the board-marked ground, and were dotted across the squares and zigzag lines at intervals that seemed at first glance irregular, but were in fact based upon a 2-1-3 dispersal pattern. The lines were painted red and blue, the squares black and white, and the circles were yellow.
The board was square, and at opposing ends were four chairs, raised up to six feet above the ground, reached by ladders. Each chair was inhabited: two men and two women, each with a megaphone. There were sixteen people acting as living pieces, moving on the board at the command of the seated players. The sixteen people were all dressed in orange, and if they were divided into teams, it was hard to see how they could be differentiated.
“How do they know which belongs to who?” Mildred asked.
“Perhaps they are divided by whether or not they move on the lines, the circles, or the squares,” Doc pondered. He glanced at their guides, who were watching intently. “I suspect our ability to work this out will tell them much,” he added in an undertone.
“Great,” Mildred muttered sardonically, “’cause that guy’s just moved from circle to line, so it’s not that.”
“But what is the aim?” Doc wondered, stroking his chin. “Are they attempting to move the ‘pieces’ from one side to the other?”
“You mean, the players are competing to control the pieces, and that’s determined by the number of places they move before collision?” Mildred pondered as two players appeared to collide. But then one of the seated players directed them to move apart.
“And why do they keep saying that?” Doc wondered.
Mildred hadn’t been listening closely to what the players had been yelling through the megaphones, as it had mostly been distorted instructions. But as she listened closer, she realized that they kept repeating one phrase.
“Have you got it yet?” she whispered. “No, I haven’t. And you know what?”
“Neither have they,” Doc answered with a chuckle. “There are no rules as such, just a set of fluid motions based around the parameters of the board. Each time one of them seems to guess what the other is doing, then that person changes the rules in order to outfox the others.”
“So it could go on forever,” Mildred said with a shake of the head.
“Certainly until they run out of invention, or the ability to outguess the others,” he said.
“Splendid,” the fat woman shrilled, clapping her hands. “You’ve worked that one out a whole lot quicker than is usual. Now, I think, you should see where you are staying. Please, follow us.”
As their guides led them away from the board, where the orange pieces still moved haphazardly at the behest of the players, Mildred muttered from the side of her mouth, “Ever hear that old saying about the lunatics taking over the asylum?”
“Indeed,” Doc muttered in return, “though in such a case I should feel well and truly at home.”
“No, Doc, you’re just crazy. These bastards are completely mad…and that’s what I’m worried about.”
J.B. FELT HIS HEART SINK and a blackness descend on him. The unwillingness of the baron to detail the sector in which he would be placed had made him expect something that wouldn’t be an easy ride. Considering the overall situation, that was an understatement. And now his worst fear had been confirmed.
As the sec guard marched him through the center of the ville, he recognized the route only too well. They crossed one boundary line into another sector, and for a moment he wondered if his worst fears weren’t to be confirmed, and he would perhaps be billeted in this sector. The hope was soon shattered as the sec contin ued at the same pace. He watched the sector pass him by, and as they reached a second boundary line, he knew where he was headed.
They crossed the line into the sector where J.B. and his companions had first entered the ville.
The shanty ville seemed even more bizarre and sorrowful now that he knew that it was part of an experiment. At least that finally explained the mix of squalor and cleanliness that had been so confusing. The shambling idiocy of the people they had met was emphasized for J.B. by the way that some of them stared, openmouthed, while others asked one another in loud voices and simple words if he was the man they had seen yesterday, and where were those who had been with him. They were disingenuous in a way that was both alarming and frightening.
Why the hell had he been brought here? What was in store for him?
The sec guard took him through the ville, scouting the area where he and the others had been captured previously. They were headed for another part of the sprawling and ramshackle sector. As they progressed, J.B. looked over his shoulder and saw that a group of dwellers followed in their wake. Like the last time he had met them, they were keeping back, a mix of curiosity and fear driving them on.
They came to a shack that was a little better constructed than the others. It was also better maintained. Where the others looked as though they could be demolished with ease, this one had a more sturdy air. J.B. knew that this had to be where the sector leader was billeted, a feeling confirmed by the way in which the group at their rear fell back, as if in awe. The sec guard halted, and one of them stepped forward, disappearing into the black maw of the shack’s open doorway.
After a wait in which J.B. wondered what was occurring, he came out. Even though he was trying to keep his visage unreadable, still a faint wrinkling of disgust could be detected. It was even more apparent in the cracking of his voice as he said, “You go in now.”
J.B. looked around. The sec guard had parted to allow him to p
ass through. Hesitantly, he took a few steps that took him past the sec man who had been inside.
“You be careful,” the sec man whispered.
The Armorer paused, looking at him with something approaching bewilderment and amazement.
“You’ll see,” the sec man added in the same undertone. With which he moved back toward the rest of the guard. They turned and walked away, scattering the sector dwellers in front of them.
J.B. watched them, chewing his lip thoughtfully, then turned to the open doorway. Under the bright midday sun, the doorway lurked like a pitch-black shadow. A ripple of apprehension fluttered in his stomach, and he could feel the adrenaline begin to flow. Purposeful, he stepped into the black.
The heat of the day outside gave way to a more humid kind of heat. The air was thick and sticky with moisture and the smell of burning spices. They were obviously intended to mask the smell of sweat and decay that permeated the atmosphere. They failed. J.B.’s gut lurched, but he bit down hard on the metallic taste that sprung from his throat. He could hear breathing: one, two…at least three people, maybe four. A woman’s voice giggled, high and nervous. His eyes began to adjust to the gloom, and he could make out shapes, but little more.
“You can’t see. Your eyes are dimmed by more than the lack of light.”
The voice was dull, flat, and yet carried within it an almost mocking undertone. It was coming from the center of the room, and as J.B. squinted through his glasses he could make out the shape of a man, his torso flowing into an amorphous shape. Another high-pitched giggle revealed the reason—a woman was draped against him on one side, for sure; perhaps another, to judge from the symmetrical flow of shadow.
The air was growing heavier, not just from the tension, but also from the musk that was growing stronger the longer that he stood in the shack.
“Give the man some help,” the voice said in the same flat tone. As an almost immediate response, a light flickered on the left-hand periphery of J.B.’s vision and the glow spread across the room. He turned his head and could see that there was a fourth person in the room—an emaciated woman who was far from the first flush of youth. She was kneeling, naked except for a cloth that was wrapped around her waist. Her breasts were empty dugs that hung pendulously as she leaned over the hurricane lamp, flopping against her rib cage with a hollow smack as she sat back on her calves. She looked at J.B. with a hollow stare, then smiled toothlessly. She reached down beside her and picked up a scrawny dog that she clutched to her.
