These Savage Futurians

by Philip E. High

  Ventnor, absently sucking a slight scratch on his thumb which he had acquired somewhere on the journey, stood staring at it a long time. Mentally he raised his hat to the men who had gone out of their way, probably at considerable risk, to preserve these long-life buildings. Buildings ‘haunted’ by one or two solar powered long-life projectors and some timed sound-tapes.

  He sighed and turned his attention to the business at hand.

  After only a few minutes work he frowned and sucked his thumb again which was throbbing slightly. It was badly swollen.

  Ventnor had been given precise orders in the event of wounds and he dusted it hastily.

  The throbbing stopped but ten minutes later began again.

  Ventnor did not waste time wondering if the matter was trivial or not; orders were strict on the subject. He pushed his spear into the soil and called base. The method of communication using the earth’s natural magnetism was limited in range but was undetectable to normal radio devices.

  “Receiving you, Robert, go ahead.”

  “Section 7, please.”

  “Check—connection, section 7.”

  “Hello, section 7. This is patrol, R for Robert. I have a scratch on my right thumb. I have dusted it but relief was only temporary. My thumb is now nearly double the normal size and turning blue—instructions, please.”

  There was a slight pause, then: “Right, Robert, drop what you’re doing and make for base fast.”

  “There’s nothing in my first aid kit—?”

  “Nothing. Make for base but call in every ten minutes, every ten minutes—clear?”

  “Understood—over and out.”

  Ventnor packed his equipment hastily and began to stride back, aware of a cold dampness at his temples. Section 7, medical branch, had not actually said anything alarming but the implications were there. This was no minor septic infection, this was something they knew about.

  In section 7, Medical Director Culbertson, pressed the emergency switch. “All departments, full alert—get me Director Graham, please.”

  Graham’s brown harsh face swam suddenly into the screen. “Yes, Culbertson?”

  “Your endorsement on a Class-2 emergency, please. We have a patrol in trouble—suspected case of Hartman’s disease.”

  Graham’s mouth seemed to thin. “That’s Blue-burst, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, I’m afraid it is.”

  “Class-2 emergency endorsed. I’ll check patrols. Someone will have to go out and bring him in before—”

  “A routine patrol won’t do, sir. We have to send special anti-toxins and Hartman serums from this section right now.”

  “Check.” Graham vanished from the screen but his face reappeared in less than a minute. “Culbertson, we’re in a spot. Our nearest patrol is twenty kilometres from base and thirty from your case.”

  “What have we got here?”

  “Basic defence only.” Then savagely: “I’m sorry, but you know the rules. I can’t endanger the entire base for one man. I know it’s harsh but to make it clearer—suppose we suddenly run up against five other cases?”

  “You’ve made your point, Director.” Culbertson, usually mild mannered, was suddenly violently aggressive. “But, surely to God, there’s someone? Damn you, man, what about clerks, technicians—”

  “Don’t try and tell me my job, Mr. Culbertson. I’ve checked! Every man, not actively essential, is on light duty and you know what that means. It means that every one of them has some minor complaint. You know, far better than I, what will happen if you approach a case of Blue-burst with even a head cold—it will mean death.”

  Culbertson said: “Oh, God!” Then: “Look, will you do one last favour—broadcast a call for volunteers? There may be someone we have overlooked. After all, women have training—they have to in case we have to pull out of base in an emergency.”

  “You’re snatching at straws, Culbertson.” He scowled. “There could be a chance, however, hold on—”

  Less than eight seconds later, the speakers were booming:

  “Attention all hands. This is Graham speaking. A Class-2 emergency is in operation and volunteers, excluding Bl and C4 sections, are urgently required for a dangerous mission. One of our patrols, R for Robert, has contracted Blue-burst and anti-toxins must be rushed to him immediately. Will any member of this base, who may have been missed in our previous checks, report to my office immediately, repeat, immediately—time is vital.”

  Twenty minutes later Judith entered the office. “I heard there was an emergency call—I’m sorry, I was asleep.”

  Graham did not look up from his desk. “Get lost, Miss Lane.”

  She flushed. “I don’t understand, I came as soon as—” Tou came after a twenty minute delay which you well knew could prove fatal.”

  “That’s not fair, I—”

  Graham looked up at last and his eyes were cold. “Miss Lane, I run this base. You don’t see much of me in normal routine, but I know what goes on, it’s my job. I put it to you, you let your private entanglements, your passions and your personal spite stand between your duty and a man’s life. I don’t give two damns if this man brushed you off, made false promises or even violated you in public. Your duty was plain and you failed in that duty.”

  “I am not refusing to go.”

  “Save your energy—a volunteer reported to this office exactly two minutes after the call She is already well on her way.”

  “She!”

  “Yes.” Graham’s lips almost smiled. “Miss Dunne—Miss Gina Dunne.”

  She flushed angrily but she said, calmly enough: “Director, as I understand it, this was a volunteer mission. I was not obliged to go.”

  “Irrespective of your personal prejudices, that is true. You were obliged, however, to report to my office immediately. You did not do so.”

  “Good God, I told you—I was asleep.”

  Graham sighed. “Miss Lane, I would advise you, between your emotional entanglements, to familiarize yourself with some of the subtleties of this base. Those emergency speakers are special. They are designed to penetrate the mind even if the hearer is in an exhausted sleep or deep sedation. Your excuse, therefore is not only a falsehood, but completely invalid.”

  He drew some papers closer to him and began to write. “I do not propose bringing you before a disciplinary board. You are young, you may learn better conduct and, when you put your mind to it, a brilliant biologist. I cannot let this breach of humanity and base discipline go unpunished, however. The emergency, and your deplorable part in it, will be written out in full and posted on all public notice boards.”

  He paused and looked up. “You have the right of appeal, of course, but a board of inquiry will take a dimmer view—”

  9

  Kilometres away, Ventnor was beginning to appreciate the insistence of haste. Already, after a bare twelve minutes walking, his thumb was black and the swelling had spread to the index finger and the palm of the hand. Furthermore his vision was becoming blurred and uncertain.

  He stopped and thrust his spear into the soil. “R for Robert, reporting as instructed.”

  “You are three minutes late, Robert. Every ten minutes we must keep a constant fix on your exact position. Describe the progress of your complaint, please.”

  He described it.

  “Right, from here on take it easy. Double check your position every five minutes as you may become a little confused, but do not lose hope. Help is on its way—over and out.”

  Ventnor acknowledged the call and removed the spear from the soil. For some inexplicable reason the simple task required considerable effort. The damn spear seemed to have got blasted heavy suddenly.

  Ten minutes later, however, it required even more effort to push it back again.

  “Receiving you, Robert. How are you feeling?”

  “Not an advertisement for physical training. My vision is blurred, I’m getting periods of breathlessness and my whole hand is swollen.”

 
“Acknowledged. During the periods of breathlessness, stand and rest. At the present stage they should be of only limited duration.”

  “You’re doing a great job boosting my morale,” said Ventnor sourly.

  “Sorry, but you must understand you are a seriously sick man. If we are to get you back to base in one piece we cannot substitute unhelpful optimism for good advice.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Forget it, you’re co-operating splendidly, keep it up.”

  Only fifteen minutes later, however, Ventnor had the curious feeling that the ground upon which he was walking was rolling like the deck of a ship. This produced a painful nausea which he had some difficulty in fighting down.

  When it came time to report again it was almost beyond him. He was compelled to scoop a small hole in the ground with his good hand before he could make contact with the spear. When he finally succeeded, he fell over and couldn’t get up.

  He shouted thinly from the ground. “This is—Robert-can you hear me?”

  “Receiving you, Robert.”

  “I’ve fallen over—I—can’t get up.”

  “Stay where you are. Help is only minutes away.”

  “Under—stood.” The sun had begun to dance crazily in the sky, making him feel sick. With some effort he rolled over but for some reason he couldn’t explain the ground began to spin beneath him, threatening, so he thought, to send him sliding from the centre to the ends of the earth.

  He found a projection in the soil and clung to it desperately with his good hand.

  He did not hear anyone arrive but a voice said, “Hold on, you’re not alone now.”

  There were faint metallic sounds and something began to snip at his sleeve.

  “Listen, darling, I am going to inject you in the upper arm. It will hurt like hell but under no circumstances are you to clutch or rub it—blink your eyes if you understand —good.”

  Something pricked his arm and, almost immediately, pain struck at him with terrifying force. It felt as if boiling lead had been dropped on his arm and was spreading through his veins.

  “No!” A hand gripped his wrist and held it firmly.

  He struggled but the grip on his wrist turned to a lock. “You must not move.”

  Move? His arm and shoulder were in the fire—were they crazy?

  He had no idea Gina was with him but, strangely, he called her name twice before he lost consciousness.

  He had no recollection of the nearest patrol arriving an hour later or the long journey back to base strapped in a stretcher. Neither was he a witness to the intense team work on arrival as skilled experts laboured to save his life.

  In point of fact, it was eight days before he regained consciousness and a further fifteen before he could take a rational interest in events.

  “You’ve lost about a quarter of your normal weight but we managed to save your hand and arm.” Culbertson managed to look both paternal and triumphant at the same time. “You’ll have to take it damned easy for a couple of months—that is to say a couple of months after we get you out of here.”

  “Thank you for everything—what did I pick up?”

  “One of the less pleasant of the new micro-organisms.”

  “Touché—which one?”

  “Hartman’s Virus, unpopularly known as Blue-burst.”

  “I’d like to read up on it.”

  Culbertson’s eyes widened slightly. “Bit out of your line, isn’t it? I understood you were all set for micro-engineering with a small blend of electronics.”

  “I was—I still am, but I have to know about this.”

  “All in good time, old chap. Perhaps, if you continue to improve, you may have some light taped entertainment within the week.”

  Ventnor sighed, suddenly sleepy. “You’re the doctor, but don’t run a closed shop on me. I shall be—after—you.” He was asleep before Culbertson could reply.

  By the end of the week, however, he was gaining weight and beginning to improve rapidly.

  He got at Culbertson again. “About that information.”

  “Again I” The medical director was beginning to look vaguely hunted.

  “Again! I have to know about this.”

  “As soon as I can arrange it.” Culbertson was stalling, knew it and was uncomfortably aware that his patient knew it also. Later he reported the matter to Stein.

  “He’s making good progress but he keeps harping on this damn disease—he wants to read up on it.”

  Stein smiled and said, “Let him.”

  “Let” him! God, Mr. Prone will cut out my heart. He’s all set to launch the man into micro-robotics.”

  “Then he’ll have to wait, won’t he? In any case I’ll have a word with Prone myself. In the meantime, let your patient have what he wants, the hard way. In short, let him take a course in biology during convalescence. He can go through the practical side when he’s well again.”

  “Are you mad, Stein?” Culbertson sounded slightly short of breath.

  Stein laughed. “I refuse to answer that on the grounds that it may incriminate me.” Then, seriously: “I think I know what I’m doing. I know this man, I know how his mind works.” He patted the director on the shoulder. “I shall look to you to back me. Tell him he can’t plunge into a subject bang in the middle, that he must start at the bottom and work his way up. If he agrees, which he will, grant him every possible facility.”

  Culbertson opened his mouth and shut it again before he spoke. “Anything else—doctor?”

  “Well, since you are so co-operative, yes. I think he might have a visitor now.”

  “You have one in mind of course.”

  “Naturally—Miss Dunne.”

  Culbertson looked at him, coloured slightly and then his lips twitched. “Well, well, well, I always thought you psychs were detached but, my God, you’re positively avuncular.”

  “My middle name is Cupid,” said Stein, gently. “Didn’t you know?” He walked away smiling.

  “A visitor?”

  “Er—ah—yes.” Culbertson had the uncomfortable feeling that a certain coyness of manner was visible through his professional manners. “You are well enough now.” He smiled. “This visitor saved your life so she has priority.” He left the room rather hurriedly.

  Ventnor put the book down, feeling vaguely ill at ease. What did one say to someone who— How could one really express thanks, sincere thanks?

  When she came in, however, the feeling changed.

  “Ginal” What the hell had he been worrying about? He reached out and took both her hands. “Thank you, and bless you.”

  “You’re looking better than when I last saw you darling.” She sounded matter-of-fact but she made no attempt to release her hands.

  “Don’t fence with me, Gina. I’ve had a lot of time to think—do you always call your patients ‘darling’?”

  “Professional assurance,” she said quickly.

  He laughed, then he said seriously. “Judith was jealous, jealous of you. She knew how I felt before I knew myself. I could talk to you. You were warm, real and I felt sort of at home with you. I used to stay and talk because—because—I didn’t know it myself, Gina, but Judith did. When she accused me, I denied it but it got me thinking.”

  His grip on her hands tightened. “Gina—”

  Far away, out in the Atlantic, Skeld, the section director said: “Come in.” Then: “Yes, Mr. Hobart, what is it?”

  Hobart cleared his throat nervously before speaking. “Well, sir, I don’t know if this is important or not but I thought it should be brought to your notice. Er—it’s about my great-grandfather, sir.”

  “Your great-grandfather!”

  “Yes, I’ve been going through some of his notes and recordings—merely from curiosity, you understand, but I stumbled on an omission which has worried me quite a little.”

  “You’re speaking in abstracts, Hobart. Kindly get to the point, I’ve a heavy schedule ahead of me.”

  “Yes, sir. The old
man had a rather unique and, to my mind, dangerous machine. In his notes I can find no record of him having turned it off—it was long-life, sir, and solar-powered. It must still be running.”

  Skeld’s sandy eyebrows rose slightly, then he pulled a note pad towards him. “This borders on fantasy, doesn’t it? However, in order to satisfy my curiosity, to set your mind at rest, and more important, to save time, please answer my questions. Your great-grandfather’s profession?”

  “Primarily a biologist, sir, but he was also a physicist of some note.”

  “And this—er—machine?”

  “As far as I can gather, sir, he believed he could effect the behaviour patterns of certain forms of insects, such as ants, by its use. According to his notes, he succeeded in increasing the intelligence of some of the lower mammals by its use but ran up against certain limitations in this field—his findings are in this recorder if you wish to study them.”

  “Later, Hobart, if I consider it relevant. In the meantime where was this experiment being conducted?”

  “Back of beyond, sir,—the upper reaches of the Amazon.”

  “Curious site for a research laboratory was it not?”

  “Not in view of his notes, sir. In the first place, there were certain releases of hard radiation involved which the authorities were disturbed about in congested areas. In the second place, and more to the point, whatever insect he had in mind abounded in the area.”

  “What was this insect?”

  “I don’t know, sir. He uses biological symbols to describe it.”

  “I see.” Skeld made a note. “And what makes you think he forgot to deactivate this device.”

  “Because, sir, all notes—and there were sixty-three— conclude with the words ‘experiment concluded, device switched off’. All, that is, except the last one, sir.”

  “Can you suggest any reason for this?”

  “Several, sir. He had received an invitation to the Island but hung on for as long as possible to further his research. While hoping to conclude his work within the week, he suddenly realized that his fliers had only thirty hours life’ left to them. He, therefore, had to pull out in a hell of a hurry leaving half his equipment behind.”