*
They evidently didn’t want to lose me, for they kept me going with meals that in fact I could scarcely eat because of the unhealthy stench in which I felt I was practically swimming. I had no idea in the world how I could possibly inhibit the WUSWIPP plan at this stage. I turned over and over in my mind all I knew about High and his set-up, trying desperately to dream up some kind of a plan of my own, even if it was only an attempt to get High down here in my cell on some pretext or other and then strangle the life out of him before his tame apes came in and rescued him. That would have been quite an idea perhaps, since I certainly hadn’t seen anyone who looked as if he ranked as a technical deputy. Summers didn’t seem quite the sort for that, he was just the strong-arm man. If High died then presumably the Lifeforce complex would live even if I didn’t. But frankly I hadn’t much hope of ever being able to bring that about. Those guards were a trifle too well equipped gun-wise. And they reacted so damn instantly to orders, too. They were almost walking reflex-actions.
I went on thinking about them until I drifted off into another troubled sleep and after that I dreamed about them, seeing those loathsome thick bodies crawling over me like giant spiders, sucking the lifeblood from me as if. I were a fly caught in their web. I felt those baby arms clutching me, the skimpy little twigs that were their legs twining round mine, felt their foul breath, as foetid as the smell from the rotting bodies in the charnel house, blowing into my face.
I woke finally, feeling utterly drained and exhausted and heard that crusher unit back at work again. I think it was the noise from that that woke me. After that there was no more sleep for me. I was beyond it now; my mind was too active, too full of hopeless foreboding that everything was well and truly up with Australia and, as a result, with all the rest of the Western world. Another meal came, brought down to me by the compomen; and after they had gone I began to work something out in my mind. I still had a mind of my own, after all, and that, I fancied, was a damn sight more than was possessed by those physical monstrosities with their electronic brains. This dawning, this sudden realization, could be made to act mighty usefully. It was the very fact that the compomen were so quick to respond to orders that had started something ticking at last in my purely human brain. My rule-of-thumb psychology was much less technical than High’s brain surgery, but I felt it could work just as efficiently.
17
When the compomen came with the next meal, I was all ready to go. While one of them carried my food in on a tray, I studied his face. Always there had been something about those men that had told me that, even when they were giving me orders, they were absolutely ready to receive orders themselves. This one had that obedience-proneness in his bearing, if you could call it bearing. He was, of course, thoroughly attuned to the reception of orders. This was his purpose in life, was basic to his whole composite build. I remembered how I’d felt about that man who’d guided Flair and me away from High’s base when we escaped — the idea I’d had that these men obeyed implicitly and without thought when faced with present and obvious authority. I could regard them as no more than order-receptacles — always provided I was authoritative enough, as authoritative as Doctor High himself.
I knew it was going to work.
I clapped my hands straight to my sides, thumbs in line with the seams of my once-white shorts, and I put every last ounce of parade-ground bellow into my voice and bearing and in Russian I roared out at the compoman:
“Turn about — at once!”
Simple!
I was so confident now that he was going to obey that I dare say I transmitted some of my sheer determination and self-confidence to the man himself. Anyway, he did as he’d been shouted at to do — or at any rate he started to. When he half turned away I caught the beginnings of a look of puzzlement but by that time it was too late for him. I got my hands round his throat and my knee in his crotch and I flung him bodily on to his two compo companions. As they all crashed to the floor of the charnel house I grabbed a sub-machine gun, reversed it, and went a little berserk with the butt end. I used it on their heads, all three of them, and after a short while I could tell from the had-it look in their eyes that the electronic brains had come adrift from their moorings and that those men would be no more trouble till they went in for a major refit. But just to tidy the place up in case anyone should come along I got hold of their skinny little legs and dragged them into the cell and shut and locked the door. I didn’t know how long I would have before High ticked over that something had gone wrong down below, but until he did so I had the surprise element nicely with me and, at last, I also had a plan. I went quickly but carefully round that death pit until I found the mouldering corner through which my arm had reached from the wall cavity the day I’d fallen through High’s control-room screen. When I found it I widened out the hole, working fast but as quietly as was possible in the circumstances. I used the butt of the heavy gun to dislodge the loose, crumbling rock and it wasn’t so very long before I was able to squirm through into the narrow cavity that ran away up to High’s apartments. High was going to get one hell of a shock before long. I draped the web sling of the sub-machine gun over my shoulder and started climbing upwards through the wall cavity. It wasn’t difficult; it was a very narrow space and the roughness of the concrete provided plenty of friction against my feet, knees, and backside. But it was a devil of a long way and before I was half way I was sweating like a pig and half my substance went down the cavity in the form of melting fat. I was filthy with sweat and dust that was rapidly becoming a film of mud and all my limbs were aching as if the pain would never, never stop. Far above me like a guiding star, once I was round the bend in the cavity, I saw the light shining through the signal-vision screen. I took a short rest, knowing that time might be running out and my absence reported but knowing also that I would get there faster in the end if I took a breather, and then I got cracking again. After years of effort I was just below the screen. I shifted the gun into my hands, held it ready, and very gently and quietly I eased myself up until my feet were resting on a rock ledge just below the screen and my backside was against the inside wall of the cavity. I was now in a perfect position for a leap through the screen, but I decided to hold it a while because I could see through the screen fairly well and the room seemed rather too full of people. It might pay just to watch for a bit — and I was satisfied I couldn’t be seen myself because Summers, who was wearing a headphone set, happened to look right at the screen before I could dodge down and his expression stayed nice and blank. The screen seemed to have some of the properties of a two-way mirror.
I saw that the movable bulkhead concealing the computer compartment had been raised and High was doing something with his control panel and was talking to a man I hadn’t seen before, a short, thin man with sandy hair, large glasses, and a sort of ferrety expression. A dangerous man, I’d have said. A moment later I realized that screen let through sound as well as vision; I could hear what High was saying.
I didn’t like it at all.
When I came in on him High had got to what sounded like a recap. He said, “Well now, I’ll just run through it in summary form.” He was speaking in English, but slowly, as though the thin man wasn’t all that hot on the language. “As I’ve said, a full-scale exercise is supposedly taking place on the complex and I’ve sent Learoyd and all key control centre personnel to their stations for running up the reactors. Other key men on the complex, whose actions are also controlled from here by my computers, are assisting in various important but indirect ways — for instance, the causeway to the mainland will be closed by the security officers acting on orders from Learoyd. This is standard procedure during security exercises, and it won’t be questioned either now or afterwards. At the same time, all radio communication with the mainland will be taken over, though in fact it’ll be given out there’s been a technical fault — this is because ultimately some of the personnel, those not in my control via the computer-linked brain-units, are ob
viously going to suspect something a little odd is going on. Now — Learoyd has already in fact started running up the reactors, and if you were there on Lifeforce you would notice that this is taking place. There will be a high whine — and some quite noticeable vibration, I expect. No-one will worry about this for some time, and in any case no-one will be able to enter the reactor housings, nor the main power-supply unit. A good many people are going to get really worried in the final stages, of course, but they’ll be reassured by Learoyd, speaking on the tannoy, so I don’t expect them to panic to the extent of jumping into the sea. In any case, they’ll be deterred by the sharks.”
There was no emotion in his voice. He was cold and calm and entirely confident. He fiddled now with a milled-edged knob, listened for a moment, then nodded up at Summers, who was standing beside the thin sandy man. He said crisply, “Voice control, Summers. Ask for a status report.”
The turnip-headed man said into his mouthpiece, “Base VC calling Lifeforce, calling brain-control unit one, come in please, brain-control unit one, over.” He repeated this once more, then waited. A thin voice came from somewhere, increased in volume when High turned another knob. I could hear it quite distinctly.
“BCU One on Lifeforce answering base on VC panel, over.”
I recognized Learoyd’s voice. It sounded utterly normal, quite conversational, not even holding any real excitement. His natural brain-processes, I supposed, would be inhibited, and he wouldn’t be taking in the fact that he was going to die with all the others. I saw High nod again at Summers and Summers said, “Report please, over.”
The voice came through strong and clear, the voice that, if ever it was picked up in the outside world, would be unintelligibly garbled. “Landlink closed, causeway clear of all personnel and traffic. Radio transmission and reception under full control. All relevant men at their posts. Reactor readings increasing satisfactorily, over.”
“Right,” High said. He sat back and lit a cigarette. “Tell him to report immediately when the reactors are running at overcharge and tell him that when that point is reached he’s to leave all the stops out and sit tight and wait for further orders.”
And that, I decided, was all I was going to wait to hear. I’d come right in on the final act and it was now or never, and I had to smash up those computer-programmed machines that were sending out the brain-control impulses, even if the compomen got me immediately after I’d done it. With the sub-machine gun pointing inwards, I thrust myself off the wall with my backside and I went through the signal-vision screen with a crash of fragmented glass and the trigger of the gun squeezed tight. The noise was thunderous and the surprise was total. The thin sandy man’s head and body caught three bullets and that was the end of him. High, who didn’t get hit, was absolutely flabbergasted and half mad with sheer rage. But so often there’s a snag and this time my foot was caught in it. Literally. It was some damned wooden framework that ran around the signal-vision screen on the inside. I just managed a quick glimpse of a troop of compomen coming for me and then my head swooped down and hit the floor and I went out as cold as the rock itself.
*
It must have been some while later, I think, when I came round because everyone in the room seemed to have forgotten about me, or anyway they were more intent on what High was doing. Even though my head was reeling with pain and fatigue I could feel the tremendous tension in the control room. Summers was listening out through his headphone set, like a telephonist, while High delicately manipulated knobs and dials. It seemed that my bullets hadn’t damaged anything vital. Over to the right the signal-vision screen gaped empty, but of course I already knew this wouldn’t affect the issue in any way; and the gap, as well as the door into the passage, was strongly guarded by the compomen. Eight of them all told, and all with sub-machine guns and with the instant-readiness-to-obey looks in their otherwise blank eyes.
Myself, I was sitting on a plain wooden chair of the hard, upright sort and my wrists were handcuffed to the front chair legs so that I was held down in a kind of semi-crouch. It was pretty uncomfortable and the position didn’t help the thudding pain in my head. It was so painful that I found I was looking out through a sort of red mist. Also, I felt horribly sick.
After a while one of the compomen noticed I had my eyes open and he drew High’s attention to this. The first time High was too intent to hear, but he heard all right the second time. He left his set and came across towards me, and stood there staring down at me. He was furiously angry. He said, “You’ve killed Tozaku.”
“Good,” I said. “Who was he, when alive?”
High’s hand came down, hard. It took me right across the eyes, twice, hitting with the edge of the palm. It hurt. High said, “He’d come in yesterday from Hungary, to see the blow-up procedure.”
“And now he’s missed it,” I said savagely. “Sad for him, isn’t it?”
High snapped, “I’ve a damn good mind to kill you right here and now.”
“Why don’t you, then? You’ve got every opportunity. I’m nice and helpless.”
He glowered down at me, his lips tight, drawn back from his teeth like an animal. He said, “Oh, no. I’ll think up something better for you later on, Shaw. In the meantime, you’ll sit there and watch the end come for Lifeforce. I’ll enjoy watching you watch!”
I tried to shrug indifferently, but owing to my tied-down position it didn’t come off. I said, “If I’m going to watch, you might fill me in on what I’ve missed. The last thing I heard you say was to tell Learoyd to sit tight and wait for further orders … or something like that.”
“That’s correct,” High said flatly, and turned away towards his dials and knobs. Over his shoulder he said, “That’s once the reactors have reached overcharge. But at that stage there won’t in fact be any further orders.”
“So?”
He shrugged as he sat down. “So Learoyd’ll just obey the last one, that’s all. He’ll sit tight.”
“And be blown up?”
“Of course.”
“You’re a cold-blooded bastard,” I said.
He shrugged again and turned back to his control panel and watched a multiplicity of lights and gauges. He kept looking at a clock in the centre of the panel, an ordinary electric time-clock that was currently showing 1345 hours. I wondered at which point of time on that clock Lifeforce would cease to exist. It was while I was pondering on that one that something came into my head and I wondered how it was I hadn’t thought of it before. I said, “It strikes me, Doctor, things have gone a little off track for you, haven’t they?”
“How’s that?” he asked.
“Well,” I said, “your whole idea was to make the blow-up look like an accident, a defect in the plant. But now, once it’s happened, Canberra’s going to tick over that what I said was right, so bang goes your accident scheme. Doesn’t it?”
He smiled. “I don’t think so,” he said. “It had occurred to me as a point to be considered, naturally, and I’ve already taken steps to see we don’t fall down on that one. I’ve — er — put it into Dunwoodie’s mind that he should go up to Lifeforce. He’s there now. You see, his usefulness is almost over. He’s already convinced everyone they have nothing to worry about, that you were talking raving rubbish, so we can stand his loss without losing any sleep. Once he’s atomized, they —”
“I don’t see how that helps,” I said. “There’s still Flair. She knows only too well I was speaking the truth. And when it happens, they’re going to believe her story — and thus, mine.”
“You’re wrong on one point,” High said. “There isn’t still Flair. Or there won’t be, not for much longer. She’s gone up to the complex with her husband.”
That did stagger me. “She’s there, on Lifeforce?” I asked. “There now?”
High nodded. “That was the whole reason for getting her husband up there,” he said. “I knew the set-up between them, and I played a hunch. That hunch came off. The wife followed on behind, hoping she’d f
ind him with a woman up in Darwin. She’s more concerned about her divorce than she is with you, you know! When she found he wasn’t in Darwin town, she went to the complex. As I said — she’s there now. Do I have to remind you, her testimony will die with her?”
“No,” I said harshly. “No, you don’t, but it’s still going to look more than just a coincidence that what we said happened to come off!”
He shrugged indifferently. “I don’t dispute that, but nobody’s going to rush into action on a coincidence for which there’ll be absolutely no backing by way of proof. It’s certainly not going to affect our plans at this stage. You mark my words, old man — the West’ll delay for more than long enough when it comes to the push!”
I felt more than bitter about that damn divorce wish of Flair’s. All along I’d feared it would cross wires with me. Now, it had done worse than that. It had led Flair to certain death. Stupid little clot, I thought furiously … letting her wilful desires override her common sense, even her sense of personal safety! Or maybe she’d let Dunwoodie talk her round, talk her into a disbelief that all this had ever happened. Or maybe she didn’t really believe High could achieve what he’d said. As for me, the evidence was right before me that he was on the point of achieving it any time now.
Silly little fool, yes — but I wished like hell I could get her off Lifeforce. Suddenly, all this had become very much more personal to me.
*
By the clock on High’s panel it was ninety minutes later when Learoyd on Lifeforce came on the air again over High’s special VC frequency. “Brain-control unit one calling base VC, brain-control unit one calling base VC, over.”
The All-Purpose Bodies: A Fast-Paced Thriller (Commander Shaw Book 11) Page 17
