by John Burke
The fluid in the tank grew viscous, and the features were blurred. Slowly the body rolled over like a man lazily, contentedly swimming.
But the reaction was not what it ought to have been. From our work on the dog I knew that at this stage there ought to be an appreciable convulsion: there ought to be a sequence of minor jolts, as the body was stimulated by successive punches of power.
The timing was not exact enough. No, that is an unscientific way of expressing it. There was no question of being “exact enough’: it had to be exact.
I made a swift, anguished calculation. The process could not be reversed or stopped. But given thirty minutes—forty minutes at the outside—I could cut off the pulses and keep the chemical reaction at its lowest while I went for help. There was no other way: I had to have another pair of hands here. Once more the idea of Elizabeth crossed my mind, this time as an assistant. But even after the preliminary explanations and reassurances, I would still have to teach her the innumerable details. It would be too late. The only man who could fall into the routine with the skill of long practice was Paul Krempe. He had to be persuaded. Faced with a crisis of this kind, surely I could rely on his scientific spirit?
I cut down the input and slowed the wheel to a stop. Then I went swiftly but silently downstairs and out into the night.
The storm was drawing closer. Lightning flickered along the mountain crags, its stabs of brightness as jagged as the peaks themselves. I seized a cape and flung it over my shoulders, then hurried down the footpath to the village.
I pounded on the door of Paul’s lodging with a force that should have wakened the dead. I felt that I was hammering life into that creature of mine: I wanted to pick it up and shake it, beat vitality into it.
Paul, swathed in a heavy dressing-gown, opened the door and stared.
Before he could speak, I said: “You’ve got to help me.”
“You must be mad.”
“The apparatus was constructed for dual operation. You know that. I thought I could work it myself, but I can’t.”
“I’m delighted,” said Paul. A flash of brightness from behind me fell across his face, etching stern lines into it. “That means your experiment will not succeed.”
“It’s got to succeed. Paul, you’re going to help me. You must.”
He shook his head.
I kept my voice down although I wanted to shout to the heavens. It was intolerable that my years of application should go to waste now because of the stubbornness of this one man.
“With so much at stake . . .”
He turned as though to go back into the house. I was desperate. I would have to make whatever terms I could with him.
“Paul,” I implored him, “if you help me I promise that once I’ve proved my theories I’ll dispose of this creature.”
He stopped. “How long will that be?”
“A month or two at the outside.”
“And have that thing alive up there all that time? No, Victor.”
“If you don’t help me”—I could not suppress my fury, in spite of my need of him—“then I make no such promise. Somehow I’ll manage on my own. However difficult, I’ll do it.”
“Very well,” he taunted. “Go back and do it.”
And then it came to me. It was my last chance. I said: “Or else I’ll train Elizabeth to help.”
“You wouldn’t dare. You wouldn’t be so—”
“I’ll introduce Elizabeth to the world of science,” I said, “and see how she likes it.”
If he could have killed me with a look he would have done so. “You wouldn’t be so wicked, Victor. Even a fanatic like you . . . you couldn’t.”
“There is nothing—do you hear me, nothing—more important to me than the success of this experiment. I’ll do anything to conclude it properly. It’s what I’ve worked for all my life.”
“Very well,” he said bitterly. “I’ll help you.”
“I knew I could rely on you,” I said.
He made an incoherent, contemptuous sound. Then he said: “I’ll get dressed. You go on ahead and set up the preliminaries. I’ll be no more than ten minutes behind you.”
“I can trust you to come?” I said.
“Yes, you can trust me to come.”
That was sufficient for me. I walked briskly back up the hillside. It would have been easy to lose one’s footing: the fitful lightning illuminated the path in bursts of glaring intensity, followed by a blackness more Stygian than that of an ordinary night. But I knew every inch of the way. This was my home, my property, the scene of my childhood rovings and now to be the scene of my mature triumphs.
The house was abruptly a black silhouette against the sky, and then was lost again.
I quickened my pace, eager to get back to that magic room at the top of the house.
Suddenly there was a stab of lightning so savage that I raised my arm to cover my eyes. It was followed by a crack that was not the crack of thunder. When I dared to look, I saw brightness like a malevolent will-of-the-wisp running along the eaves of my home. The window of the laboratory, high up under the roof, seemed to be lit from inside. It must have been an optical illusion, but it was terrifying in that split second of its occurrence; terrifying because of the uncanny blaze in that square, blank eye, and because of my fears for what lay inside. An electrical disturbance of that magnitude could easily affect the delicate balance of my experiment.
I hurried into the house. The whip-like crack of the lightning still stung my ears, but indoors there was tranquillity. Nobody stirred. Either none of them had heard the sound or they were all cowering in their beds, praying.
For once in my life I was trembling. My knees felt unsteady. I went into the salon and took a bottle of brandy from the wine cupboard. I poured myself a large drink and gulped it down with a haste which was unworthy of the brandy.
Then I went upstairs.
At the first landing I stopped. There was no sound from the direction of Elizabeth’s room. I went on my way.
As I approached the door of the laboratory I heard an impossible sound. Faintly, through the heavy door, came the intermittent splutter of the wheel as it turned and sparked. But it had no business to be turning. I had switched it off before leaving. Nobody could have entered the laboratory in my absence.
Filled with foreboding, I thrust the key into the lock. If that lightning had somehow triggered off the process and it was working again, the whole balance could have been wrecked.
I flung open the door.
Standing erect in the middle of the room was my creature. The bandages dripped with fluid. The arms hung slackly, but as I stood there, aghast, they tightened and fought against the bandages. There was a tearing of cloth. The groping hands went up to the face.
In the flickering light cast by the madly rotating wheel, the creature bared its teeth in a snarl. It was a wide, savage grimace such as I had never seen or ever wished to see in my life. It was utter bestiality unleashed.
I still had my hand on the door. The sight had robbed me of all power to move. I could neither go in nor retreat.
Suddenly the creature lurched towards me. Its legs were still impeded by the bandages, which made its shambling gait all the more horrible. I turned to run . . . and it was too late.
The heavy arm, with torn bandages drooping from it, curled round my neck. I was jerked back into the laboratory. The smell of the chemicals which impregnated the creature and its swathing bit at the back of my throat and in my nostrils. I tried to cry out, but the pressure was tightening. I kicked vainly against the padded, well-protected figure.
The lights in the room began an insane dance. They blazed in and out of a kaleidoscope of other lights, sparking not only before my eyes but somehow inside my head. A great hammer began to pound from within my skull.
I twisted round, trying to get a grip on the creature. Its distorted face was a slavering nightmare, a few inches from my own. I struck out, but the blow was feeble and useless.
To have come so far, and now to be destroyed by what I had created . . . to be killed by a grotesque mischance, a wayward jest of the elements . . . !
Then suddenly I was falling sideways. The creature had relinquished its grip. As I went down, I was dimly aware of Paul springing over me and lashing out again and again. I tried to push myself up, to come to his aid, but the roaring in my ears and the pain that ran through me were too much. I saw the feet of the creature trample towards me and then stagger away at a tangent. Paul lifted one of the laboratory stools and beat the creature back into a corner.
As I finally got myself up to my knees, with the floor reeling beneath me, Paul swung the stool against the creature’s head. It emitted a croaking, feral sound that rasped hideously through the room; and then it collapsed into a stained, ragged heap.
Paul dropped the stool and hurried to me. He got his arm round my shoulder and helped me to my feet. I leaned against him for a full minute, gasping and vainly retching.
And then, as the pain ebbed away, I was conscious of the most fantastic elation. It was as though, purged of irrational fear, I could see things not just as clearly as before but with an added vividness.
“Paul”—it hurt me to talk, but I was laughing the words out—“I did it! I did it . . .”
“Yes.” He was not really listening. He helped me to the only chair in the room—there had never been time for relaxation in this part of the house—and lowered me gently into it.
I put my head back. I had succeeded. The glow of accomplishment warmed me through, driving out the memory of those few terrifying minutes when things had gone wrong. It was not my fault that they had gone wrong. Paul himself was largely to blame. Obviously there had been damage to the brain during that undignified scuffle in my family vault. That could soon be rectified. Also the process had been dangerously speeded up and my equipment had run wild after the lightning stroke. Next time there would be no such mistakes. Next time all my calculations would be strictly observed.
The important thing was that I had done it.
Paul was dragging the creature on to the bench and strapping it securely down. I neither helped him nor interfered. It was undoubtedly a good thing that the creature should be restrained until I could get to work on it.
Paul drew the last strap tight and then turned back to me.
“You must destroy it right away before it regains consciousness.”
I could hardly believe what I heard. Already I was wondering which of the seams in the head to open in order to get at the brain without involving too much further damage to the features.
“Did you hear, Victor?” Paul insisted.
“What did you say?”
“You must destroy this thing now.”
I was grateful for his intervention, but I was not going to be dictated to in this way. I tried to make him see reason. “Don’t you realize, Paul—I’ve succeeded.”
“You nearly succeeded in getting yourself killed. Another ten seconds and—”
“This is my creation.” I was still marvelling at it. Of course I had known that all would come right, but it was still splendid to have it proved beyond all doubt.
“Your creation,” said Paul: “a criminal lunatic. It tried to kill you.”
“That was due to the brain damage. When you attacked me,” I reminded him, “it was damaged. That makes the responsibility very largely yours, Paul. It’s your fault that it ran wild. Your fault that it’s not what I intended it to be. I can repair the brain. It’s what I’ve done that counts: I’ve created a living, sentient being.”
“You promised to destroy it, Victor.”
“Never.”
“When you came to ask me for help,” he said, “you said that once you had proved your theories you would destroy it.”
But the fool could not see that I had many more things to prove, many more things to demonstrate. This was only the beginning. I said: “When I’ve finished my research.”
“Don’t you see—you’ve created a monster.”
“I shall operate on the brain tomorrow,” I said. “It shouldn’t take too long.”
The basic principles were sound. From now on the difficulties could only be minor ones.
Paul looked from me to the prone figure strapped to the table. He touched one of the straps to make sure it was secure. Then he shook his head sadly.
“You won’t listen to me?”
“When we worked together,” I said, “I was glad to listen to you. You have contributed a great deal to this discovery, Paul. If you’ll continue with me—”
“No,” he said, “you won’t listen. And you’re too powerful in this district for me to have any chance of opposing you here.”
“Opposing me?”
“For your own sake, Victor, and for the sake of mankind I think you should be stopped.” He turned away. At the door he said: “I shall pack my things and leave the village tomorrow. I can see there’s nothing I can do here.”
I was sorry that we had to part in this way, but I could not let my resolve be weakened. There have always been opponents of new developments in all science and philosophy. Every great advance has been made in the teeth of ignorant opposition. Even the pioneers themselves, such as Paul might have been, often falter and turn back.
For me there would be no faltering.
It would be foolish to apply myself to the task in hand tonight, though. My body had taken a considerable battering and my fingers would lack the firmness and precision which were essential for the brain examination. I tested the straps holding the unconscious creature to the bench, disconnected the apparatus so that there should be no further mishaps, and went down to bed. I had to lie on my left side, as my right shoulder was heavily bruised, but I slept without difficulty.
The morning was clear and the storm clouds had moved on. I awoke refreshed, and breakfasted with Elizabeth. A dull bruise along the line of my jaw attracted her attention, and I had to improvise some silly little story about walking into a door. She did not know whether to laugh or to reprove me. Once again she referred with mild but genuine disparagement to my cherished laboratory, and threatened to come up and inspect it. “My rival,” she called it. I did not think that the sight of the creature with its torn bandages strapped to the bench would be the most edifying one to greet her.
As soon as possible I made my excuses and escaped to the top of the house. At the end of the first landing I caught a glimpse of Justine staring at me curiously. She made a move as though to intercept me—to ask me pertly, no doubt, what I was doing with my nights and why I had neglected her charms recently—but I waved her off and hurried up to the laboratory.
I hesitated briefly before opening the door. My experience of the previous night was not one which I would wish repeated.
But it was absurd. The creature could not have burst its bonds. It could not be standing there waiting for me again, ready to strike.
I opened the door.
There was no creature confronting me. There was no creature in the laboratory at all. Straps and bandages lay in a twisted pattern on the bench. The floor was sticky with fluid from a dozen shattered tubes and bottles, and there was broken glass everywhere. The window had been torn open, smashing two of the panes. When I went incredulously to look out of it, I saw a couple more torn strips of bandage caught in the heavy guttering. The way down to the ground was perilous, but the jutting masonry gave enough footholds for anyone determined enough—or mad enough—to choose such a route.
The creature had gone.
6
“He’s gone,” I said. “I’ve searched the house to make sure, and then gone all over the grounds. Heaven knows where he’s got to.”
Once more I was standing at Paul’s door. There was a certain grim satisfaction in his manner, as though he saw all his predictions coming true; but at the same time he was truly alarmed.
“We must call out the village—start a thorough search at once.”
“You had be
tter leave that to me,” I said. “I have the authority here. But I want the two of us to set out at once. We know the creature we are dealing with better than the villagers do. And we’ve got to pick up his trail before he goes too far. If he gets deep into the woods we’ll never find him.”
Paul went indoors to make ready, while I walked away along the village street. I nodded to some of my tenants, and exchanged civilities with two Army officers from the garrison down the valley. I did not, however, stir up any unseemly panic. There was no reason why the villagers should know too soon about my experiments. I didn’t want their clumsy hands laid on my creation; and I didn’t want madly inflated stories about it to go humming along the valley.
I went back to Paul, and handed over to him one of the two rifles I had brought from my small armory. It had been a long time since there had been any use for them in this peaceful part of the world. I hoped now that we would manage without having to fire them.
We set off into the woods.
In other circumstances it could have been a delightful morning. Working as I did at night and spending so many mornings asleep before resuming this work, I had not strolled through the woods and glades at this hour for some years. As a boy I had known every path through the trees and every clearing. Now it was all strange to me. The fresh morning air had the taste of a sparkling water, cool and tangy from the stream.
When my experiments were concluded and had been acclaimed by the world’s leading scientists, I would make a new life for Elizabeth and myself. We would walk here often.
But now there was a grim duty ahead of us. I wanted to find my creature before some stupid peasant stumbled across him. He had to be recaptured and taken back to his birthplace. For that was what my home was for him: his birthplace.
Once the operation had been carried out on his brain, I was sure that I would find him a worthy intellectual companion. He and I might go on to further discoveries, blazing a trail for lesser mortals to follow.
Paul and I exchanged few remarks as we prowled through the trees. A brisk nod was enough to indicate a new direction; one hand held up brought us to a halt when some rustle in the undergrowth or the creak of a branch seemed to indicate another presence.
