Arcadian's Asylum

by James Axler

  Now he was in a sector that he didn’t know. The instincts and senses that the coldheart whitecoats wanted to test and analyze would be their downfall in a way they couldn’t understand. He moved around the streets, past the open area where the chess tables and the giant ground board were located. Their absurdity didn’t register with him. He had more pressing business.

  Scent and sound were his raw materials: areas and buildings where the people of this sector were sleeping at this hour. Areas where they were awake to be treated with particular caution. There was no indication of any sec. It should have puzzled him, but in his current mood he just took it as a bonus.

  Jak moved quickly. He knew the particular scents that attached themselves to Doc and Mildred. As with everyone, there was something unique about them. He also knew that if they were awake, Doc would be talking. He allowed himself a smile at that. Even more so when he caught Doc’s voice, no more than a whisper on the still air. Enough for him to find the building. His smile broadened as he heard Doc’s discourse on how they needed to break the bounds of the sector. He accessed the building via an alleyway and an open window. From there, finding Doc and Mildred’s room was simple. He could hear Doc as he reached for the handle of the door, then his voice cease as they watched the handle drop.

  “Need stop talking and start acting, Doc,” he said with a vulpine grin as he pushed the door open and stepped back.

  They were framed in the doorway, both in the act of reaching for their sidearms. The look of astonishment on their faces alone was almost worth his efforts.

  “LOOK, I KNOW YOU don’t want to trust me, but just give me this chance, okay?”

  Ryan Cawdor stared at Tod with his one good eye, the burning blue orb trying to penetrate into his very being. No, he didn’t want to trust him. Truth was, he didn’t like him at all. Even before Krysty had told him about their little discussion when she tried to retrieve the weapons, the one-eyed man had picked up something in the way that Tod looked at Krysty. No, what he really wanted to do was to put his fist right through the slightly smug and condescending face in front of him. He didn’t doubt Tod’s sincerity—the man had put a lot on the line leveling with Krysty, and by all accounts had played more than fair—but the gnawing canker of jealousy still ate at him.

  An interesting feeling for Ryan. It had been a long time since he and Krysty had been in a situation where he had come face-to-face with someone who wanted his woman so openly. If he had put it to her like that, likely as not the Titian-haired beauty would have put her own fist into his eye. His judgment was being impaired, and he knew that it wasn’t a good time for that to happen.

  “Suppose I do trust you. What guarantee have I got that you won’t screw me over?”

  “Not just you. Both of you,” Tod countered slowly, staring from one to the other. “I’m not just taking you, Ryan. I’m taking Krysty, too.”

  He was aware of Ryan’s feelings. Including Krysty made it clear that it wasn’t merely a move to get the one-eyed man out of the way. Ryan appreciated that, but there was more than just that personal itch to be scratched.

  “What if it’s both of us you want out of the way?”

  Tod snorted, exasperated. His manner was almost certain to rub Ryan the wrong way, but maybe it wasn’t deliberate? Ryan let him speak, considering this as he listened.

  “What,” Tod snapped, “so I’m going to lead you both into a trap because she spurned me? Fuck it, you think this is all about you? Or even all about me? This is more than that. You think I want revenge? Think again. Listen, there’s nothing wrong with wanting to make a better world—you’ve seen more of this land than I have, and you can’t tell me that it isn’t a pesthole. But the way Arcadian goes about it? No, that’s all wrong. You don’t make a better world by treating your own people like animals just so you can experiment on them. You work with them. Now mebbe if things change we can start making this ville better as a start. Mebbe it’ll all go to shit. But at least it’ll be our shit.”

  He stopped, breathing hard, glaring at Ryan. It was obvious that he’d stopped before completely losing his temper. The one-eyed man returned the glare, then extended his hand.

  “That’s a hell of a lot of words, friend, but I reckon you mean ’em. And they sound about right to me. I won’t pretend we’ll be best buddies, but we can be allies.”

  Tod nodded curtly and took Ryan’s hand. “Okay, then let’s get going before it’s too late.”

  They were in the office where Krysty had spoken to Tod the previous evening. The rendezvous had been arranged, and Ryan had reluctantly agreed. Now they had their weapons back and he was, if not exactly happy with the situation, then at least prepared to go along with it. The plan was to lead them across two sectors and to the edge of the wooded areas surrounding the ville, where they would rendezvous with a rebel faction that was barely keeping its head above water.

  As they left the building by a side window and took a circuitous route that led them past vid posts and patrolling sec, across the barren areas dividing the sectors, and out into the wooded areas, Ryan gave thought to what he and Krysty had been told.

  In each sector there were small groups of people who didn’t like the way the sectors were being run. Consensus among these people was that Arcadian and his cronies had long since lost whatever strategy for the future they had once had, and were lost in the morass of their own theories. Most of the population was either beaten down by the way in which they had to live or was too scared to organize and fight. The only ones without these burdens were those in the central sector, and they were too busy clinging to their semifreedom, scared of slipping back into one of the other sectors. Which left those few who tried to find a way of fighting back in their own sectors, or those who couldn’t take it any more and made a desperate bid to escape, banding together outside of the ville to try to survive by stealing supplies and avoiding the sec patrols until such time as they were sufficient in number to mount a revolution.

  Meanwhile, those who stayed in the ville had found ways to maintain irregular lines of communication by working out how to avoid the patrols and vids. Arcadian was too used to his people being kept in line, apart from a small majority, and so if they kept their profiles low and moved only singly or in pairs, they could go from sector to sector and back again overnight. It was something, but they lacked the combat instinct or know-how to move the game up a notch.

  Which was where the newcomers came in: Arcadian might have his own ideas of their use, but those who maintained an underground—of dissent if not resistance—had other notions, figuring that the newcomers wouldn’t want to stick around if an alternative presented itself.

  They were, of course, right. But Ryan was well aware that the largest cell of rebellion was also the one from which his people had taken out several members. Who was the coldheart in this equation, and how would that affect their first meeting?

  He would soon find out.

  They were across the first empty strip of land within minutes, Ryan and Krysty allowing Tod to dictate pace and action as he knew the land. They moved through another sector at an equally fast pace, neither of them realizing at that moment that they passed the building where Jak was talking to Mildred and Doc. It wouldn’t have mattered. There was no time to waste. Once they passed another barren area they were into the sector where J.B. was billeted. As they went, Tod told them in a hushed whisper that this sector ringed the whole of the ville. The people here were the most malleable, and so the least likely to cause disruption or run. There were some exceptions, he added, without clarifying.

  Here, it was quieter still, and easier than anywhere else to hear the sec patrols. Avoiding them was relatively simple. Progress was swift, and they were soon into the undergrowth that surrounded the ville, moving from the sparse woodland into thickets that were mangrovelike in their density. It was familiar territory to Ryan and Krysty.

  “Arcadian has cultivated this with plant life that he has that bastard Andower work o
n in his labs. There were rumors of man-plant mutie hybrids they were working on there, to patrol here with greater stealth. Nothing came of it that we’ve seen, but it wouldn’t surprise me if the coldheart gets it right one day,” Tod whispered with a shudder. “Wait here,” he added, gesturing them to stay.

  Ryan and Krysty obeyed, but not without a glance of caution passing between them. Tod disappeared into the undergrowth, and they heard a soft cawing in imitation of a nightjar. It was answered from a direction to the east of his position. Minutes passed in which they waited silently, straining for telltale sounds. There was only the softest of rustlings that broke the quiet of night, and that when it was almost on top of them. Ryan had the panga to hand, figuring a blade for better use in the silence, when he relaxed as Tod appeared through the leaves, followed by two men in ragged clothing. They looked as gaunt and worn as the men the companions had encountered a few days before.

  “This is them, then,” one of the men rasped without ceremony. “Good men you chilled the other day, you know that?”

  Ryan nodded. “Them or us. No time to ask questions. No apology, but not something we did willingly,” he answered in a steel-edged tone.

  “Mebbe too quick,” the man returned. He was tall and wasted-thin, his shirt hanging from him. The other had stronger musculature, and was perhaps not so strung-out from hiding so long. He stepped in, coming between the gaunt-eyed rebel and Ryan.

  “Us or them, them or us, what’s the difference?” he snapped. “We didn’t know them any more than they knew us. Makes them more impressive and useful, in my mind. So let’s cut the shit and talk about what we need.”

  His tone bespoke of leadership, and the gaunt-eyed man reluctantly deferred. In tones that were kept low, with one ear kept permanently on alert for movement in the otherwise still and silent mangroves, they spoke rapidly. Ryan and Krysty quickly learned that the rebel force was small—and was having trouble keeping itself together as a unit. Constantly on the move to avoid being tracked down by the sec patrols, and unable to forage much from the mangrove because much of the foliage was poisonous from genetic modification and natural mutation, they had to snatch food from the ring sector, and take water where they could find it.

  “We’re not fighters by nature or experience,” the rebel leader explained, “that’s not the way the baron likes us to live under his munificence. So we have to pick it up as we go, and pray the sec—who do get that kind of training—can’t pick us off before we’ve learned. We need help from experienced fighters, both to train us and to unite the rebels on the inside.”

  “You know how much time that could take?” Ryan asked him. “And you know how much time we’ll have?”

  “You’re not going anywhere,” the rebel replied.

  “Mebbe not,” Ryan countered, “but there’s more attention focused on us than mebbe anyone else. Keeping clear of that and doing what you ask—it won’t be long before someone catches on. Arcadian may be a lot of things, but stupe he isn’t.”

  “Yeah, but he’s an arrogant fucker. He doesn’t think we’ve got the balls or the skills to do anything. Well, he’s right about the last one, but you can give us those. Fuck, we got the first. ’Sides which, you think you’d really take this shit for long before wanting to hit back?”

  Ryan considered what the rebel said. “Mebbe you’re right. Guess we wouldn’t want to be around here too long. And mebbe working with you gives us a better chance, just like it does you.”

  “Exactly,” the rebel agreed. “We might as well work together. It more than doubles what we could do alone.”

  Ryan nodded. “You’ve got a deal. Now let’s plan our next moves.”

  They spoke hurriedly as time was running short before it was necessary to return. A training session was set for two nights from then, with the time in between spent making contact between the other companions. The rebels would also use their communication lines to spread word of what was to occur. Perhaps, if those not ready to run with the rebels could see what was coming, they might be persuaded to become more active.

  By this time, the horizon began to grow lighter as sunrise approached, and with hurried farewells and affirmations of intent, the rebel duo returned to hiding while Tod led Ryan and Krysty back the route they had come.

  It would be a hard day, getting by in Alex’s sector with no sleep, but the adrenaline of knowing that action was near might just keep them together.

  “SIMPLE P AVLOVIAN experimentation. Crude, nasty, potentially dangerous. A splendid way to spend your day,” Doc grumbled under his breath as he and Mildred stood in the center of the warehouse block that had been hollowed out and painted a brilliant white. At least, it had once been brilliant white. The walls and floor were now smeared with dirt and grime, with stains that could have been dried blood ineffectively wiped and blotted into the stone floor and walls.

  Perhaps not as ineffective as it seemed. Mildred looked at the others huddled in the early-morning chill, and could see that some of them were eyeing the stains with barely disguised foreboding. These marks held meaning for them. Was it part of the experiment?

  Come to that, what was the experiment in which they were unwilling participants? Roused from their beds before dawn—glad that Jak had departed—Doc and Mildred had been shepherded through the streets, where others had been corralled to join them. Their collectors kept up a nonstop stream of constant and nonsensical chatter. The point of it at first escaped Mildred. It was Doc, with the lateral thinking of the borderline mad, who tumbled to its purpose.

  “The noise stops us thinking of anything other than what it may mean, or will they please shut the fuck up and give us peace,” he had murmured to her. “Also gives us no chance or space in which to ask questions. Simple but effective, is it not?”

  And so they had been herded into the building. It seemed from the outside like any other on this sector building. The inside was different. The space and white made it seem larger on the inside than out, which was immediately disorienting. The group of twelve was split into six pairs who were placed in different sections of the floor space. It seemed to make little sense to Mildred until she looked down, and could see that there were lines on the floor—faint, and in a different shade of white made even more indistinct by time—that formed irregular boxes.

  Then it had started. The chill: colder than outside, she was sure, and maybe from an old air conditioner unit? It came in bursts. As did the sudden, blaring noise from speakers that she could see up in the shadowed ceiling. Then the commands, barking at random: one pair ordered to move, then another. A bell interspersed between some of the commands. And some of the pairs that moved were hit with high-pressure hoses, the likes of which Mildred hadn’t seen for some time. It was a testament to the levels of tech Arcadian fostered, if not his charity. The water sluiced the floor, forming runnels around the feet of those who hadn’t been targets, leaving those who had been knocked from their feet, bruised and chattering as the cold bit through their damp clothes. The fear and confusion as to who would be next spread across the floor like the water.

  Then Doc had spoken, and Mildred fell in with him, the fug of confusion and disorientation falling from her.

  “The bell,” she murmured. “Simple. And no imagination. Straight from…not even the book, just some vague summary someone once heard of and then passed on half-remembered,” she continued with a heavy humor that she was far from feeling.

  “Why this is necessary escapes me,” Doc returned, “but when in Rome it may be more politic to play along and get out quick.”

  They stood in the oppressive and tense silence that followed each burst, waiting for instruction. As yet they hadn’t been ordered to move. In truth, they had been the only pair who hadn’t. Was it because they were here to observe, even though they had no assurance of that? Or was it that they were being tested more than the others for their ability to stand up to the stresses of waiting and wondering?

  The pauses between the bursts of actio
n were irregular, and in this nerve-shredding elongated silence, Doc looked around. In the far corner, he could see the woman he had spoken to the previous day. She was wet and miserable and seemed ill at ease. No real surprise. He kept looking at her, willing her to turn to see him before the next burst of instruction.

  Force of will or act of chance he neither knew nor cared, but she did turn and saw him standing in the distance. Their eyes locked across the divide, and he raised one hand slightly, making the gesture of ringing a bell, hoping she would be able to understand. Or that her vision wasn’t poor at distance. She seemed—with his own eyes it was hard to tell—to nod shortly.

  It was gesture that was unnecessary in light of what happened next. A burst of white noise, followed by barked orders for three pairs, one of which was Doc and Mildred. Theirs was the only one preceded by a bell. They obeyed and moved. The other two pairs vacillated. One man tried to move, restrained by the hand of his companion, but that still wasn’t enough to save them from the high-pressure water jets. The other pair moved in confusion, and were likewise knocked back. Doc cast a look over his shoulder, and could see his unnamed friend watch them carefully, whispering to her companion.

  The experiment—to call it thus was almost a euphemism for the torture, or so it seemed to Doc—continued for some time after that. Gradually, all the pairs seemed to get the point, and it was only when they had all completed the maneuvers successfully that the experiment ceased. The doors opened and beckoned by their shepherds, waiting outside, the pairs gratefully exited. Bedraggled and exhausted, but glad of the respite.