by John Rickham
“A point,” I said, between bites. “Why don’t we use the air-conditioning all the time? It’s quite cool back there now.”
“Acclimatization,” he said, and moved the switches that folded hack the rear canopy again, also dousing the light. “We will be moving south by degrees, and it’s going to get steadily warmer. We expect to be stuck on that island a while, and it’s further south still. Now, there are such things as atmosphere suits, and they keep a man comfortable for eight hours at a stretch. But it will be far more efficient for us if we get used to the heat as it comes, so that we can function without such encumbrances. Gadgetry is fine, and I’m prepared to use it when it helps, but it doesn’t pay to get so that you lean on it, become dependent on it. To make a point, this gyro-guide is fine, but I am also checking us by the stars, partly from habit, but also because it is a useful thing to be able to do, and a skill rusts if you don’t keep it oiled occasionally. You won’t, incidentally, see Sol from here. This is the wrong hemisphere. Now, if you’ve finished, you two go and sleep. I shall be all right, and I will sing out good and loud if I need help, believe me.”
Sleep didn’t come so easily this time. I heard Fiona murmur “good night” in the dark, and within a few minutes her deep and slow breathing told me she was fast gone, but my mind was troubled a little. It bad never been my intention to influence anyone else’s character or habits, but it was obvious that I had done so here, like it or not, and I couldn’t help being nervous about the consequences.
Again, when I awoke, the Roamer was at rest. Fiona was asleep, resting as peacefully as a child. A shimmering rainbow dawn was painting the sky with a wealth of pastel tints. I sat up, peered forward, and Carson called, “Come and look. Tell me if you see what I do.”
IV
IT WAS A SCENE to catch the breath and the eye. Before us, in a long slow slope, the green land stretched smoothly down for miles to the sea. That was a different, impossible green, shimmering with a million reflections from its running wave-crests, and darkening with distance. Far beyond, and looming up enormously into the blue sky was a vast vapor wall of boiling rainbow thunderclouds. I am reasonably free from superstition, but that great wall struck me as a proper introduction to either Heaven or Hell.
“Edge of the hot-belt,” Carson said, prosaically enough. "What I want to know is—where is Outpost One? According to my instruments we are looking right at it. Down there!”
If there had been a city of any size, or even buildings, they would have stood out starkly against a backdrop like that. But there was nothing at all, except one slim but towering concrete-and-glass structure, and what appeared to be a scattering of small huts about its base. There were many of those, but at the very most they couldn’t have been more than one floor high.
“You’re sure this is the place?”
“I don’t blame you for asking. But yes, I’m sure. Apart from the gyro and map references, I recognize the coastline, near enough.”
“What?” Fiona demanded, knuckling her eyes and coming to sit between us. “Is that it?”
“We’ll soon find out.” Carson stirred the motor and we went swooping down the hill in the bright morning light. The nearer we came, the more the enigma coiled on itself. The high-rise tower remained, solid and substantial, in the center, but the scatter of little huts now proved to be in orderly rows, widely spaced, and even smaller than we had originally assumed. Closer still, we saw that they were definitely only one-floor affairs, glass-walled and all deserted. Each had a heavy roof, that Carson guessed to be a bank of solar cells, but the total absence of people struck us as the most disconcerting aspect of all. He slowed down to a crawl as we approached one of the curious structures.
“Hold it!” I called, peering from my side. “Seems to be a notice of some kind planted in the turf.” A moment later we had veered enough so that I could read it. WESTERN AVENUE.
“Avenue?” Carson echoed. “I suppose you could call it that. At least it gives us a direct approach to that central building. Do you get the feeling there’s an awful lot more here than meets the eye?”
“I’ve had that for some time,” I said.
“Of course, we’re miles too early,” Fiona said. “Everyone will be still asleep!”
“All wrapped up in their invisibility outfits,” I suggested, and she gave me a hearty punch on the shoulder. Then Carson gave a snort.
“So simple. So logical, too!” He set the Roamer gliding slowly along Western Avenue, smiling to himself. “They are about a city block apart, you’ll notice, with cultivated gardens in between. Call them, each one, the ground floor, entrance lobby, foyer, or whatever. And think!”
It was a challenge, and I tried my best. Each little building as we came to it and passed appeared to be about one hundred and fifty feet a side, about ten feet high, transparently walled, and with some kind of box-like structure in the dead center. His calling them entrance halls made me think of a kind of lobby or waiting room arranged about a central elevator system, but that was as far as I could go, apart from reading the occasional etched legends which were spread along those glass-like fronts.
“Hey, wait!” Fiona said suddenly, pointing ahead and to the right. “That one we want,” and as we sighed to a stop beside it I read, VERLAN RESEARCH FOUNDATION: ANTIHROPOLOGY SECTION.
“That’s us,” Carson agreed, as we stopped, but made no move to get out. Grinning widely, he said, “We’d better change in something a bit more formal before confronting the savants.”
That engaged us for about half an hour, in which time I refused to grind on the enigma any more. I know my brain; pushing it beyond a certain point just makes it close up. By virtue of much scrubbing and a little cosmetic help, Fiona managed to mask the remaining stains on her face, and covered the rest with crisp white shirt and slacks. She looked totally different, but her frown proved that she had no more solved the puzzle than I had.
“Savants?” she murmured, as we dismounted and approached the low-roofed building. “I’m ready to meet them, but where are they?”
And then, as we shoved open a heavy glass door and went in to a tiled floor, and waiting seats—and the central structure was an elevator system—I experienced a flash of intuition and utter disgust at myself for not having seen the answer earlier. Carson marched to a counter, glass-topped, where a notice said RING AND WAIT. He depressed the indicated button and stepped away, turning to us.
“Any other bells ringing yet?”
“I’ve seen it,” I said. “As you said, logical. Sensible. Preserves the natural amenities. A pity we don’t do it more on Earth.”
Then Fiona got it, too. “Of course!” she gasped. “Upside down! They’re all underground! What a fascinating idea!”
The gentle clash of gates brought us to the desk, where a young woman in a sleek green tunic stood, having just emerged from the elevator.
“I am sorry,” she said, in rippling Italian, “you are much too early. The Institute is not yet open.
Fiona paced forward and presented her credentials, at which our receptionist’s fine dark eyes opened wide and her manner became much more friendly.
“Miss Knight. An honor. But such a disaster, too!” She used her hands and shoulders to express extreme dismay. “One moment. I will see if Dr. Bernard is available.” She turned to a console and buttoned for someone we were unable to see, then chattered away briskly to him in an impossible mixture of French and Italian jargon for a moment or two. Beside me Carson murmured, “I smell trouble of some kind.”
“Dr. Bernard will see you immediately, Miss Knight. He is about to have breakfast, and begs that you and your companions will join him. This way, please. Seventh level, suite seven-zero-three.”
As we joined her in the elevator, Carson spoke. “There’s something wrong? Can’t you tell us what it is?”
“Dr. Bernard will explain everything. I do not know all the details, only that it is a terrible affair. Scandalo!”
There were twenty b
uttons on that elevator control panel, and the mental image conjured up staggered me for a moment. But then, I thought, why not? It is no more difficult to dig a deep hole than to erect a high structure. Most high-rise buildings are so double-glazed and insulated, temperature-controlled and artificially lit, that they might as well be underground anyway. And you’d be quite free of strength problems concerning high winds and temperature changes, weathering and erosion. Above all, it would be much simpler to maintain a steady and equable temperature inside. And you leave the natural surface unspoiled and clean, which was almost a fetish on this planet.
Dr. Bernard was waiting for us in the doorway of his suite. A small and stout Frenchman, much given to excitable gestures, he fussed around us, took us inside, reeled off suggestions for coffee, or something stronger, something to eat, at such a rate that we couldn’t slow him down until we were seated at a magnificent meal. We needed the breakfast, but we needed an explanation more.
“Now, you wish to study Dr. Gailint’s data, yes?” Dr. Bernard came to the point reluctantly. “I regret, it is impossible. It has been stolen!”
“When was this?” Carson demanded.
“Yesterday, in the afternoon. I will explain. In the morning we had a distinguished guest, a patron. He desired to look around, asking particularly for Dr. Gallint’s section, because he had heard of the so-unfortunate controversy which has shut down all our activity them. I was ashamed!” Bernard showed us just how ashamed, with appropriate gestures. “That section has been neglected terribly. So, in the afternoon, after our guest had departed, I myself decided that it should he cleaned up, made presentable, you understand? And then—how can I tell you? Everything was gone. Notebooks, microfilms, specimens—everything! Stripped clean!”
“And nobody saw anything?” Fiona demanded.
“Why would they? We have no security here, no guards. What is there to steal that is of value to anyone?”
I had already made four out of two and two, but Carson caught my eye, and shook his head fractionally. “It’s unfortunate,” he said. “We particularly wanted some data from Dr. Gallint’s research.”
“Look!” I broke in. “Even if Gallint was as eccentric as a corkscrew, surely he logged his data with the computer store?”
“But of course!” Dr. Bernard stared. “That cannot be stolen, only the priceless originals!” That’s what notoriety can do for a man. A few years ago, Gallint was the butt of his companions. Now his stuff is priceless!
Still, we could get what we came for, and Fiona went to attend to it as soon as we had finished our meal, leaving Carson and myself to pacify Dr. Bernard, and to get from him, discreetly, a description of his distinguished visitor. Bernard named him as a Mr. Lee Hi-Pin, and described him as a small man but with tremendous presence: very simply dressed in a plain gold cloak, his only ostentation a pair of massive gold bracelets and a servant, an enormous black man. I could see Carson taking it all in. Pretty soon Fiona came back and worked some of her charm on Dr. Bernard. Between that, and the pull of Dr. Larrabee Knight’s prestige, she could have talked him out of just about anything.
As it was, we did very well.
Another avenue brought us to the edge of an abrupt cliff where we parked the Roamer and descended a zigzag path hewn from the face of the cliff. There, idle in pens, were four research-craft, one of which had been loaned to us with Dr. Bernard’s blessing. We three carried with us only a beamer each; from the Roamer’s store, and our hot weather clothes, as it was really hot and clammy here.
“Score one for being a girl,” Fiona gloated, as we pushed off and went heaving out over the rolling water. “Dr. Bernard had no right at all to loan us this, but he did. Good, huh?”
“Now who’s pandering to whose ego?” Carson demanded, the sweat streaming down his face. “Come and learn how to handle our new home before we do anything else. This is a more up-to-date model than any I’ve seen, so I have some learning to do, too.”
It was a very versatile craft, about thirty feet long and eight in the beam. It could be totally enclosed and submerged if necessary, and there were outriggers available for extra stability. It was outfitted to support eight people in near-luxury for months, so we were well satisfied. There was air-conditioning equipment, but Carson reminded us that we were not going to use it.
“I’m feeding Fiona’s data into the course-gyro,” he told us, doing it, “and that should bring us to landfall exactly where Gaunt did. Then we will have to find somewhere to stow the craft and go ahead on foot, into jungle. So the more we sweat now, the easier it will be in the long run.
By now we were heaving through a turbulent sea of copper-green, with insanely tinted air all around us, so that it was almost impossible to separate the horizon. Carson left it to the course-gyro, and then turned to Fiona.
“Something for you. I’ve kept on about opposition until you say I have criminal masterminds on the brain. Well, now we know.“ Dr. Bernard described his distinguished guest to Noble and myself. Not much of a description, but he added “a gigantic black servant. I think I know who it has to be. He has no form on any police dossier, he’s too smart for that, but he is a legend among the shadowy forces of the wrong side. My guess is that Clan was working for him, assembling the key data.”
“How could anyone get here ahead of us?” she demanded. “We came in late, that’s all. This thing has been brewing for a long time. You said yourself that Gaunt made his original observations about ten years ago. Long enough for rumors to spread and crystallize. Ample time for our man to have established himself right here as a wealthy untouchable, while his paid hirelings ferreted out the key information. What I would like to know, but never will now, is whether Acco Zeb intervened back there to destroy clues we were after—meaning he knows about us already—or whether it was just some foul coincidence that he chose that moment to grab at information he needed.”
“Acco Zeb?” she echoed. “You know his name?”
“A name. No one knows very much more than that.”
“You make him sound like some kind of crooked superman.” I said, and Carson nodded, his smile momentarily missing.
“In my opinion,” he said, “and that opinion is shared by several other people, Acco Zeb has a genius mind—and be is certainly one of the most ruthless men alive today. By comparison, Clan was a fumbling amateur. Rumor has it that Zeb is part Chinese, part Ceylonese, part Hindu; combining the high spots of all three. The big black man that Bernard spoke of is Hovac. He’s six-foot-six and has the strength of ten men. Hovac is Zeb’s executioner as well as slave.”
We surged steadily on, heaving and lifting over the running sea, and it grew hotter by the minute, until I felt that I was filling up with moisture from the thick air. Carson warned us about that, too.
“No matter what it feels like,” he said, “you can’t gain moisture by breathing, you can only lose it. And you lose by sweating. So drink plenty. We can’t run short of water while the desalination plant is running.”
Visibility fell off steadily until we could no longer be sure what we were seeing, or whether we were seeing anything at all. The swirling patterns of color, ever more vivid, perpetually changing, grew until they seemed substantial, building weird shapes and dissolving them again all around us.
Only the motor throb and the heaving beneath us served to assure us that we were in motion at all.
“It’s like a psychedelic nightmare,” Fiona declared, as we huddled together in the cockpit and stared at the display. “You ever been on a trip, Alan?”
“Never felt the need for it. Nor can I follow the reasoning of those who do. ‘Mind-expanding’ is just noise, to me.”
“I’m not surprised,” she retorted. “You’ve no romance in your soul.”
“Romance has nothing to do with it. Semantics is the whole trouble. The mind isn’t an entity, or a place to go out of, it’s a process. It’s the resulting synthesis of everything you’ve ever experienced. There is a constant influx of n
ew data, a constant evaluation, a discarding of the untrue and unnecessary and revamping of values and processes in the light of past, present and probable future.”
“But what about individual personality?”
“What about it? It is easily demonstrable that it is totally impossible for any two people to have the same data right down the line. So everyone is different to some degree.”
“You leave out all the magic and mystery, the wonder!”
“No, I don’t!” I declared. “There’s all the magic and wonder anyone could want, outside, without having to invent it in myths about minds. In my opinion those people who carve inner mysteries are those who are stuck on the notion that what goes on inside their heads is somehow more important than the rest of the universe outside. Such people are egocentric, which is just a fancy name for immature. Obsessed with their own importance.”
“I’m with you, there,” Carson came in. “That is exactly what children do, retreat into an inner fantasy world because they aren’t old enough or strong enough to face the vastness of the outside world. It’s all right for kids, but there’s something wrong with adults who do it. They are afraid or unwilling to admit that the Universe is a hellova big place, wherein Man is only a grain of animated dust. Man is the only animal that says ‘I am,’ and thinks it matters.”
She was silent awhile, then, “But what about the unknowns? Like ESP, and all that sort of thing?”
“Unknowns are simply things we don’t yet understand. After all, it is quite possible that what we regard as great knowledge, tremendous advances in science and understanding, are only the simpler and more obvious things, and to try to explain everything else on what little we know could be like me trying to understand Swahili because I’ve learned my alphabet and three-letter words in the English language. It’s the savage who invents gods to explain unknowns.”
“And that doesn’t explain a thing,” Carson agreed. “It simply explains away, pushes the whole question into the ‘forbidden’ area.”
