Jack was boiling mad by now. ‘That does it, Pendel-ton!’ he shouted. ‘Where are you?’ He began to pound his body with his fist. ‘I’m gonna throttle you!’
‘Save it for the Cowboy!’ Tuck said.,
The doors opened and Jack surged out, rushing down the corridor to the Cowboy’s door. Without pausing to knock, he raised his foot and kicked it open.
Inside the Cowboy was standing there in his shirt and socks, but no jeans. He was still wearing his hat. Before he could say or do anything, Jack punched him so hard on the jaw that he was knocked back on to the bed, unconscious.
‘Attaboy!’ Tuck shouted triumphantly. ‘You did it, Jack. You did it!’
Suddenly Lydia rushed in from the corridor, still fully dressed.
‘What happened?’ she asked, surveying the Cowboy on the bed.
Jack was confused. ‘Where were you?’
‘Next door. In my room.’
‘Ooops.’
‘Beauty of a punch, anyway,’ Tuck told him.
‘Jack,’ said Lydia, ‘what’s going on?’
Jack thought fast. ‘Don’t worry, it’s all part of my plan.’ Then, under his breath, he murmured to Tuck: We do have a plan, don’t we?’
‘You betcha!’ said Tuck.
Under Tuck’s directions, Jack hauled the Cowboy off the bed and dragged him into the bathroom. Then he proceeded to strip the Cowboy to his underwear before tying him up and gagging him with clothing taken from Tuck’s case.
‘What now?’ Jack asked.
‘Tell Lydia you want a few minutes alone. Then lock the bathroom door.’
Lydia was still in the bedroom. Jack did as he was ordered.
‘Now you get changed,’ Tuck said. ‘You put on the Cowboy’s clothes.’
‘What?’
‘You heard me. Put them on.’
‘What for?’
‘Just do as I say. Then afterwards I want you to stare hard at the Cowboy’s face. I want to try something.’ Jack decided that it was futile to argue. Swiftly he stripped down to his underwear before putting on the Cowboy’s shirt, blue jeans, leather boots and finally his hat. Then he peered at the Cowboy’s face.
‘What’s all this about?’ he finally asked Tuck.
‘We planned an experiment,’ Tuck told him. ‘Something called the Nerve/Muscle/Gland Motor Response Adjustment. I’m going to try it out on you now.’ ‘You’re what!’ Jack said.
Inside the pod, Tuck was busy setting dials and flipping switches. As Jack focused on the Cowboy’s face, Tuck froze the image on the monitor, then punched a few more buttons. The image turned into a computer analogue comprising straight lines and grid squares. Underneath the ghostly outline of the Cowboy’s face remained. The grid proceeded to fold itself over the image until it conformed to the contours of the Cowboy’s face.
‘It boils down to an electronic stimulation of the nerves and muscles,’ Tuck told Jack. ‘If I can, I’m going to alter your appearance.’
He threw a lever.
Jack didn’t like the sound of this one little bit. He panicked and ran for the door, forgetting that it was locked. He began to fumble with the bolt, but then he began to feel a twisting and a wrenching in his face.
He staggered back, and saw himself in the mirror above the washbasin.
The proportions of his face had begun to bulge, the forehead swelling, the bridge of his nose growing larger, the chin taking on a squarer appearance. His cheeks began to ripple in a perfectly horrific way.
‘Oh my God!’ Jack murmured. ‘What are you doing to me?!’
His eyes began to pulse and throb. They turned a deeper shade of brown. A prickling started up all over his scalp, and suddenly his hair had gone darker and rearranged itself under the Cowboy’s hat. It was unbelievable. Jack began to scream.
‘Jack!’ Lydia shouted through the door. ‘What’s happening? Are you all right?’
There was a cracking, stretching sound, and Jack’s nose became flatter. His lips curled, grew fatter. Even his complexion altered.
The real Cowboy awoke in the bath. When he saw what was happening, he fainted dead away.
‘Help me!’ Jack began to shout as the cracking continued and his cheekbones became distinctly more sculptured.
‘We’re almost done, Jack,’ said Tuck. Just a few adjustments to the forehead and eyebrows . . .’
Two waves of pain surged out from Jack’s temples, and he howled. His eyebrows rippled as if they were infested with lice. He staggered back, closing his eyes.
Then everything went quiet. All the pain, the movement stopped. Cautiously Jack opened his-eyes - and gasped when he saw the Cowboy peering back at him from the mirror.
‘You . . . you brute!’ Jack said to Tuck. ‘What have you done to me? You’ve turned me into the Cowboy! I’ll never forgive you!’
‘Easy, Jack. It’s only a temporary effect, I promise. It’s part of my plan.’
‘Your plan!’ Jack shouted. ‘You’ve turned me into a mutant!’
‘No, Jack. Just calm down a minute, will you? Calm down and listen . . .’
Soon afterwards the bathroom door opened. Lydia gasped when the Cowboy walked out. She began to back away.
‘It’s me, Lydia,’ Jack said. It was a small relief to him that his voice had scarcely been altered by the ‘experiment’.
And Lydia recognized it. ‘Jack?’ she said.
‘It’s me,’ he told her again. ‘I’m Jack. I’ve just got the Cowboy’s face.’
She kept backing away. ‘But how . . .?’
‘Don’t ask, Lydia. Just keep trusting me. I’ll explain everything later, I promise, but not right now.’
She continued to peer at him suspiciously.
‘You do believe it’s me, don’t you?’ he asked.
She still looked uncertain.
‘Take a look in the bathroom,’ he told her. The real Cowboy’s still trussed up in there. I changed into his clothes.’
Very cautiously, Lydia went past him and peered inside. The Cowboy was still out cold.
‘I don’t understand,’ Lydia said, thoroughly shaken. ‘I don’t understand any of this.’
‘It’s part of the plan,’ Jack told her. ‘Scrimshaw is due soon. We’re going to fool him into thinking that I’m the Cowboy.’
Chapter 10
‘They’ll be here soon,’ Jack said to Lydia.
‘I know,’ she replied.
‘It’s going to be dangerous.’
‘I know.’
‘You don’t have to stay. I can handle it.’
Jack wasn’t sure he meant this, and in any case Lydia shook her head adamantly.
‘I’m coming with you,’ she insisted.
‘There’s no need - ’ Jack began, but then Tuck’s irritated voice broke in: ‘What is this? Your noble half-hour?’
‘I’m just trying to protect her,’ Jack murmured under his breath.
‘What?’ said Lydia.
Jack shook his head at her. ‘I’ve got this habit of mumbling to myself.’
‘If you ask me,’ she said, ‘there’s a lot of things that are more than a little strange about you.’
‘She can take care of herself,’ Tuck said. ‘You’re gonna need all the help you can get.’
There was a knock on the door.
Jack and Lydia exchanged glances before Jack rose and opened it. Two men were standing outside.
‘Mr Scrimshaw is waiting,’ one of them said.
‘Good,’ Jack replied. He indicated Lydia. ‘She’s coming along, too. Let’s hit the trail.’
He had been practising his accent, and did a reasonably good imitation of the Cowboy’s speech. Neither of the henchmen seemed to object to Lydia accompanying him. As they went out, Jack slipped the DO NOT DISTURB sign on the door.
They were driven to Scrimshaw’s in a black Volvo sedan. Scrimshaw’s Rolls Royce was parked outside. A pale grey dawn had broken over the city by now, and inside the pod, Tuck checked his watch: six
o’clock. Only three hours of air left.
The henchmen led them into a long glassed-in veranda where palms abounded. A large table had been set for breakfast, and around it sat Scrimshaw, Margaret Canker, and several henchmen. Nearby, a friendly-looking Golden Retriever was curled restfully on the floor near its food dish.
Scrimshaw rose on seeing them. He was dressed in an elegant cream summer suit.
‘Good morning, Cowboy,’ he said, smiling. ‘Come in. Sit down. Join us.’
His manner was so friendly that Jack muttered under his breath: ‘Do you think we’re close friends?’
‘God,’ said Tuck, ‘I hope not.’
‘And who is this?’ Scrimshaw asked pleasantly as Jack led Lydia up to the table.
‘Lydia Maxwell,’ Jack told him. ‘A friend of mine.’ Scrimshaw took Lydia’s hands and kissed it in a rather smarmy manner. He gave Jack a ‘we’re-all-men-of-the-world’ look, as if to suggest that no further explanation of her presence was necessary.
‘How long has it been, Cowboy?’ Scrimshaw asked as seats were provided for them.
‘Uh . . .’ said Jack, fighting down a tremor of panic. ‘You tell me.’
‘Almost six years.’ Scrimshaw took a mouthful of coffee and savoured it before saying, ‘Don’t you remember? It was at Idi Amin’s barbeque.’
Jack forced a smile. ‘Oh, yes. How could I forget?’ Someone’s foot stroked his leg under the table. It was Margaret Canker’s.
‘You haven’t forgotten the last time we saw each other, have you, Cowboy?’
Jack gave another uncomfortable smile. Canker winked at him. He winked back.
‘You look different, Cowboy,’ Scrimshaw observed.
‘Do I?’
‘Thinner. You’ve lost weight.’
‘I’ve been sick,’ Jack improvised.
‘Good one!’ Tuck said from within.
‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ Scrimshaw said.
‘Yeah,’ Jack went on, unable to resist it, ‘I just haven’t been myself lately.’
‘Okay,’ Tuck said. ‘Quit while you’re ahead!’ Scrimshaw signalled to a waiter, and he approached with a coffee pot. Jack and Lydia both nodded for their empty cups to be filled. Jack gazed around the table at the decidedly unfriendly faces of Scrimshaw’s henchmen. Everybody seemed to be watching him. To begin with, he had almost enjoyed the masquerade, but now he wasn’t so sure he could carry it off.
Scrimshaw produced two cigars from his pocket.
‘Do join me,’ he said, offering Jack one. ‘I believe these are the kind you like . . . Cuban?’
Jack didn’t know a panatella from a pancake. He’d tried to smoke a cigar as a kid, and it had made him feel nauseous.
‘You’re in luck,’ Tuck said. ‘Cuban cigars are the best.'
Jack slipped the cigar into his pocket, saying, ‘I think I’ll save it for later.’
Scrimshaw made a gesture as if to say that it was all the same to him.
‘Very well then,’ he said, ‘so much for the pleasantries. Let’s get down to business.’ He turned to Canker and said, ‘Would you fill the Cowboy in, Dr Canker, on the details of the process.’
She cleared her throat. ‘Miniaturization works on a dual-chip system. We have one chip in our possession at the moment. We will have the other one shortly.’ Both she and Scrimshaw regarded Jack with a slight measure of concern, as though anticipating that only one chip would not be good enough for the Cowboy. ‘Take what they’ve got,’ Tuck advised Jack.
‘Fine,’ Jack said aloud. ‘I’ll take what you’ve got.’ Scrimshaw and Canker exchanged a glance.
‘You do understand,’ Canker said, ‘that the first chip only miniaturizes. Both chips are required for reenlargement.’
‘I understand,’ Jack replied. ‘It will have to do for now. I’ll whet my customer’s appetite with what we’ve got.’
‘Good point,’ said Tuck from within.
‘Good point,’ Scrimshaw said, smiling. He turned back to Canker. ‘Show him the chip.’
Canker produced a small gold pillbox from the pocket of her lab coat. She opened it and held up the chip with a pair of surgical tweezers.
Inside the pod, Tuck stared at the chip on his display monitor. There it was, his only hope of salvation. He felt an intense frustration that he could not simply reach out and grab it. But he controlled himself, and said to Jack: ‘Easy, now. That’s what we need.
Jack and Lydia were both trying to hide their excitement from Scrimshaw and his cronies. As casually as possible, Jack reached out to take the chip. But Scrimshaw put a hand on his arm.
‘I wonder,’ he said to Lydia, ‘if the Cowboy has ever told you of his incredible tolerance for pain.’
Lydia frowned. ‘His what?‘
Scrimshaw smiled. ‘It’s quite remarkable, isn’t it, Cowboy? Your stoicism is legendary, and I’m surprised you haven’t apprised your companion of the fact. Hiding your light under a bushel, eh? That’s so unlike you, Cowboy.’ The smile broadened, became more menacing. ‘If that is who you are!’
Grabbing Jack’s wrist, Scrimshaw slammed it down on the table. Jack was more startled than hurt, but now everyone at the table apart from Lydia was glaring at him suspiciously.
Scrimshaw motioned to a henchman, who approached. Scrimshaw whispered into his ear, and the henchman went inside the house. Still Jack’s hand was flattened against the table, Scrimshaw holding it down. The pot of coffee had overturned, and the hot black liquid began to run towards Jack’s hand. Both he and Scrimshaw watched it. By the time it touched Jack’s wrist, it had cooled to a bearable temperature, and Jack did not even flinch.
Scrimshaw was obviously impressed, and Jack thought that he had passed the test. But then there was a flaring noise behind him as Scrimshaw said, ‘You don’t mind if I satisfy my curiosity for myself, do you?’
Igoe had appeared from the house. At the end of his false arm was an acetylene torch, a pale blue flame jetting out from its end.
‘No!’ Lydia shouted as Igoe stepped toward Jack. ‘Don’t!’
She tried to rise from her chair, but a henchman pushed her back. Jack began to struggle frantically to free his hand from Scrimshaw’s grip.
‘Don’t worry,’ Scrimshaw told him, ‘Dr Canker here is a pioneer in the field of limb replacement.’
Igoe brought the flame to within a few inches of Jack’s head. Jack surged to his feet, but two henchmen grabbed him and forced him down again. He began to grapple with them, pure terror filling his whole being.
‘Jack!’ Tuck called from within. ‘You’re generating too much electrical energy. I can’t hold the balance!’
Jack didn’t hear him. He was struggling with all his might, wrenching and twisting his body in an effort to get free as Igoe brought the torch close once more. Then suddenly he felt his face beginning to bulge and warp. Igoe stepped back in surprise, and Scrimshaw’s determined expression changed rapidly into one of alarm. He staggered back from his chair, saying, ‘Cowboy, no more! It was only a joke! Only a joke!’
The henchman fell away as Jack’s face pulsed and rippled with increasing rapidity. Everyone started to scream.
‘Cowboy!’ yelled Scrimshaw. ‘I beg of you! Please stop!’
Jack could do nothing except moan with pain as his whole face began to vibrate and buckle and swell. Inside him, Tuck was frantically trying to dampen down the effect, but it was out of control. His features kept distorting with terrifying rapidity, and evca Udboi shocked. Cups overturned on the table, muffins jod toast and pots of marmalade were scattered to the 9ocr as everyone began retreating.
Then, with a terrific snap, Jack’s face collapsed back to normal.
There were more screams. But they swiftly abated when everyone saw that the bizarre changes had finally ceased.
‘It’s him!’ Scrimshaw shouted. ‘It’s Jack Putter.’ Rapidly regaining his aplomb, he turned to his henchmen: ‘Get him!’
The chip had fallen on the table. Jack, only di
mly aware of what had happened, snatched it up as the henchmen started towards him. Lydia, the only person who had stood her ground beside Jack, reacted swiftly, up-ending the table in their faces. More crockery and cutlery went flying, along with the remains of the breakfast. The henchmen began to slip on the solarium’s tiled floor.
‘He’s got the chip!’ Scrimshaw was screaming. ‘Stop him! Stop him!’
Igoe leapt in front of Jack, blocking his path.
‘Lydia,’ Jack shouted. ‘Catch!’
He tossed the chip towards her, but it fell short, dropping into the golden retriever’s dish with a soft plop. Igoe threw his arms around Jack, locking him in a bear-hug.
Scrimshaw pushed the inquisitive dog away from its dish before going down on his hands and knees and rooting through the mushy dog-food with his bare hands. Finally he located the chip and held it up triumphantly. It was covered with sticky red-brown dog-food.
‘Don’t kill him!’ Scrimshaw ordered Igoe. ‘Lock him up. The girl, too.’
Two henchmen had already grabbed Lydia. Igoe released Jack, and he slithered limply to the floor.
Jack and Lydia were taken and locked away in a cellar room. Barred sunlight shone in through the gaps in the slatted roof overhead. Jack urgently began looking around for some means of escape. Lydia watched him but didn’t move.
‘We’ve got to get out of here!’ Jack said to her. ‘Don’t just stand there! Help!’
She shook her head. ‘Not until you tell me what’s going on! I want to know everything, Jack. Right now!’ Jack ceased his pacing and regarded her.
‘Tell her,’ Tuck said from within. ‘We’ve got nothing to lose now.’
To Lydia, Jack said, ‘You won’t believe me.’
‘Try me,’ she insisted. ‘You’re forgetting that I’ve seen your face change totally twice in the last few hours. I’ll believe anything after that!’
Chapter 11
‘I don’t believe it,’ Lydia said when Jack had finished telling her everything.
‘I told you you wouldn’t,’ Jack replied.
‘Tell her I’m disappointed in her,’ Tuck said from within.
Steven Spielberg's Innerspace Page 9
