There once was a paranoid professor
whose mistress wouldn’t let him caress her…
No! Stop that! Think!
He thought. He thought about Vanessa…
There once was a paranoid professor
who wanted a girl named Vanessa…
No! No! No! Think!
He slapped his own face savagely in the hope that the pain would penetrate his mind, clear his wits. He was weak, and he couldn’t hurt himself enough.
There once was… No!
He had an inspiration. He bit his finger. There seemed to be quite a lot of strength left in his jaws. He bit his finger till the pain seemed to come like an arrow of light through the mental fog. He bit his finger until he wanted to cry out. He bit his finger until he began to cough and splutter as a strange fluid poured down his throat.
After a time he knew what it was. Blood.
That connected. He lay on the bed, weak, sweating, with a finger throbbing where it had been bitten through to the bone. But the fog was lifting. It was like surfacing after a drinking jag. Surfacing the hard way.
He must remember not to eat anything more, not to drink anything more. He would be no good to Vanessa if he were in a perpetual stupor. He would have to get his mind clear and then try to do something. Death or glory.
He laughed weakly.
Death, he had already tried.
The door opened. Enter the paranoid professor. Roland tried to sit up, and fell back.
“Good evening, Dr. Badel… Dear me, we are in a mess, aren’t we? Blood everywhere. What have you been doing, my dear fellow? Ah, biting your fingers, I see. What a curious diversion. We shall have to clean you up. We shall have to get you sensible, also.”
“I am already sensible,” said Roland thickly.
Raeder laughed. “A subjective opinion rather than a professional one. I will return in a few minutes with bandages. It looks as if your finger may need a couple of stitches. You really should not be quite so perverse.”
Roland fainted while his finger was being stitched. He was not out long. He returned to consciousness in time to see a hypodermic needle being withdrawn from his arm.
“So. You are with us once more. Do not try to move for a while. I have given you a stimulant. Let it do its work. You are shortly going to witness the generation of long-range telergetic euthanasia, Dr. Badel. You should find it very interesting. You will need a clear mind to observe carefully. After all, there is your future to think of.”
“My future?” said Roland grimly. He wanted to ask what had just been pumped into him, but decided against it. There was little point. Whatever Raeder said, he would not be inclined to believe it. Nevertheless, he was beginning to feel stronger, his mind was becoming clearer. Perhaps it was just an ordinary stimulant, or something to neutralise the drug that was in his system. “I have no illusions about my future, Professor Raeder. Nor, I am happy to say, does yours seem particularly bright.”
The Professor remained jovial. “Dear boy, away with pessimism and depressive thoughts. In time to come, you will see that I have acted for the best—for you, for Vanessa. Dammit, for the entire nation. When the present tyranny has been removed, there will be room for men like you. That I promise.”
“Professor Raeder, if you promised me that the sun would rise tomorrow, I should doubt the phenomenon for the first time.”
“Splendid. I see you have recovered yourself. Now, if you feel up to it, we will join our little group of gifted youngsters… A warning—unnecessary, I am sure. Do not interfere with the experiment. I should hate to burn a hole in your brain after having meticulously repaired the damage you have done to your finger. Such a waste! Also, please, do not, please, attempt to speak to Vanessa. She is in a very vulnerable and relaxed state. I have spent most of the day implanting a simple but necessary conditioned reflex in her. If you attempt to interfere with the sequences of my programme, I cannot answer for her sanity or, indeed, her life.”
25
THE ROOM WAS darkened. Vanessa lay on her back, motionless, on a trolley. A beam of red light from a lamp standard close to the trolley focussed on her open eyes. In the semi-darkness, Roland could see the members of Professor Raeder’s group of paranormals dotted about the room, sitting in relaxed positions in comfortable chairs. Their eyes were open, but none of them moved.
“Sub-threshold hypnosis,” said Professor Raeder. “I trust you are impressed. It has taken time to establish, of course. I have a system of key-words. Using the keywords in post-hypnotic suggestion, I can cause the patient to enter a condition of sub-threshold hypnosis upon command. But, as distinct from full hypnosis, sub-threshold hypnosis does not inhibit paranormal talent. In fact, the patient retains every faculty except independence of will. The others were already conditioned, and their conditioning was established over a period of time. It is unfortunate that I had to use a crash-programme on Vanessa. It has been rather tiring. However the results are quite rewarding. Her mind is now completely open, Dr. Badel. She will accept, contain and, upon command, discharge under guidance the energy deposited by our young friends… It is now shortly after midnight. I expect Sir Joseph will be feeling quite relaxed. We do not have long to wait. Please be seated in that chair.” He indicated a chair in a corner of the room. “And kindly do not move from it. Under no circumstances should you move from it unless you have my authority.”
Roland did not move. He was looking intently at Vanessa. Her eyes seemed vacant, and yet… And yet, somehow, he sensed that the vacancy was not entirely convincing.
“Please, Dr. Badel.” Professor Raeder motioned with his laser pistol. “No one would notice if I were compelled to kill you now. The project would still continue. Be a good fellow and relax in your chair. Vanessa has already endured much for your sake. Do not de-value her sacrifice. You are a trained scientist. Observe and remember. That is all.”
Roland looked at the laser pistol, and shrugged. “You are right, Professor Raeder. I am a trained scientist. I will observe and remember.” He took himself groggily to the chair indicated and sank down on to it. There was sweat on his forehead, and his knees felt absurdly weak. He would have liked to believe that what he was experiencing was simply a nightmare. But he knew that it was a dreadful reality.
Professor Raeder remained standing, still watching Roland cautiously, still pointing the laser pistol at him.
“London!” he said in a loud voice, apparently to no one in particular. “Seek target.”
There was a silence, stretching into minutes, then:
“Target found.” It was Janine’s voice. “Target found… In bed… Woman… Oh, it’s lovely!… Oh, lost! Blocks! Blocks!”
“Glasgow!” called Professor Raeder. “Neutralise blocks. Reassure. Neutralise blocks and give reassurance.”
Again silence. Then Alfred’s voice. “Blocks neutralised. Reassurance… Blocks not with target… Blocks tired, relaxing, close but not very close… Believe now target enjoying himself…”
“Target found again. Woman… Lovely! Lovely!” Locked into target. Locked into woman… Lovely!” shrieked Janine.
“London, Glasgow, hold,” called Professor Raeder. “Paris, Berlin, stand by to enter London… Enter…”
“London entered.” It was Robert’s voice.
“Suggest completion, satisfaction to target.”
“London entered.” Sandra’s voice.
“Compel target’s rejection of woman.”
Roland watched and listened fascinated. Watched and listened while Professor Raeder’s laser pistol pointed at him unwaveringly. Here was history being made—a dreadful kind of history.
“Oh! Oh! It’s over. It’s stopped.” Janine’s voice was full of disappointment. “They pull apart.”
“Satisfaction suggested.”
“Rejection achieved.”
“London, Glasgow, Paris, Berlin hold. Come in Warsaw. Enter London. What do you find?”
“Target and woman apart now.” It w
as the voice of Quasimodo. “Target puzzled. Target puzzled but not afraid.”
“All hold!” Professor Raeder’s voice was hard but calm. “All hold! Glasgow maintain neutralisation of blocks. Remain detached… Others maintain unity. Hold target. Maintain unity. Increase power now. Maximum hold… Prepare to transfer.”
Roland, still painfully conscious of the laser pistol in Professor Raeder’s steady hand, peered through the semi-darkness. The young paranormals were no longer relaxed. Their eyes had closed. They moved restlessly in their chairs, groaning, grunting. Janine let out a high-pitched giggle. Quasimodo made a noise that sounded almost like an animal snarl. Sandra whimpered.
“We are ready.” Again it was Quasimodo. “Power is good. Target held. We are ready.”
“Athens is open,” said the Professor. “Athens is open and waiting. Seek total unity. Transfer to Athens!” The final command was a shout.
On her trolley, Vanessa twitched, shivered, shook. She let out a great cry of anguish. Then her body became limp once more, though her eyes remained open.
“London, have you found unity?”
Vanessa’s lips moved, but it was Janine’s voice that spoke. “We have found unity.”
“Paris, have you found unity?”
Again Vanessa’s lips moved; but it was Robert’s voice. “We have found unity.”
“Berlin, have you found unity?”
Now Vanessa’s lips and Sandra’s voice. “We have found unity.”
Roland watched, fascinated, horrified. The techniques devised by Professor Raeder were brilliant and terrible.
“Warsaw, have you found unity?” The Professor’s voice remained extraordinarily calm.
“We have found unity.”
“Have you become one?”
Vanessa answered—impossibly in a chorus of five voices. “We have become one.”
“Athens will hold you. Now, all of you are Athens only. The target is held by Athens. I will count ten. Hold your power, let it grow. I will count ten. Then I will command. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten… Strike!”
In a room directly below the bedroom occupied by Sir Joseph Humboldt and Maria Mancini, the three night paras—one woman and two men—played cards.
The woman stiffened, froze. “I sense something.” She closed her eyes.
The two men also closed their eyes, concentrating. Presently they opened their eyes. One poured another glass of non-alcoholic wine.
“I found nothing.”
“Nor did I… Shit, I hate this night duty, and I hate this non-alcoholic gnat-piss.”
“Did you go in deep?”
“Think I’m a fool? Joe doesn’t like voyeurs when he’s banging away. If he felt a deep probe, he’d put us all on the bread line. State bloody secrets are all he’s afraid of losing. And he’s not thinking about them when he’s lying on top of the Italian cow.”
The woman still had her eyes closed. “I sense something.”
One of the men yawned. “Knock it off, sweetie. You’re probably getting reflections from Maria. Joe must have a hard on by now. He’s probably slipping it to her at this very moment; and because you are a woman you are getting peripheral transmission.”
She was obstinate. “I still sense something.”
“Forget it. How many hours of duty have you put in this week?”
“Maybe sixty.”
“Then you are over the top, love. Forget about Joe. Come back to us. If anybody tries to flash him, we’ll all feel it… Whose deal?”
The woman opened her eyes and yawned. “God. I hate night duty… For the record, since you have seniority, Jack, I interpret that as an order. Incidentally, it’s my deal. Goodness, I seem to be winning a lot.”
Sir Joseph Humboldt rolled away from Maria Mancini. Something was wrong. He knew he had not achieved orgasm, and yet he felt as if he had. It had happened before—he was no longer able to perform like a young stud—but not with this feeling of having attained satisfaction when he knew that he had not.
He hoped Maria had not noticed his inadequacy. Probably she hadn’t. Usually, she managed to have three or four herself even before he got the show on the road.
“Joseph, my dearest, what ees it? Tell naughty little-Maria what ees wrong? Am I too greedy? I hunger for you so.”
He was glad of the darkness. He didn’t want to see her face. He stretched out a hand to stroke and squeeze her ample breast. Sometimes even the merest touch of her breast would be enough to renew his ardour. But tonight it wasn’t. Tonight her breast felt only like warm meat; soft, flabby meat. He took his hand away, disappointed. He knew that she felt his disappointment.
“What ees it, Joseph, man of mine? Shall I switch on the light? You are tired?”
“No, don’t touch the light. I am all right, thank you.” How he hated that theatrical phrase ‘man of mine’. It was Maria’s favourite endearment. Silly Italian cow!
“Something ees wrong,” she persisted. “I did not please you.”
“Nothing is wrong, Maria. You did please me. Stop fretting.” He tried to make his voice sound gentle, and failed. There was a sound of muffled sobbing. Maria was crying into her pillow. Blast the woman!
Something was wrong. He shivered, feeling cold, but not physically cold. It couldn’t be a probe. The duty paras would block it. But something was wrong. He wanted to be alone. He didn’t know why he wanted to be alone. Normally, by this time, he would be counting the bruises on that soft Italian flesh and spilling champagne over those voluptuous breasts as Maria indulged her customary appetite for the after-play of love.
“Leave me. Go to your own room. Get a drink or something. I want to be alone.” He heard his own voice. He didn’t believe it. It sounded so impersonal. Something was wrong.
“I will switch on the—“
“Leave the bloody light!” he roared. “And leave me!” He wanted to say he was sorry, but the words stuck in his throat. Something was wrong.
Wordlessly, Maria got out of bed. He thought he could see her in the darkness, but he could not. She stumbled, then found the bedroom door and opened it. A shaft of light displayed her body in cruel silhouette. Fat, shapeless Italian cow! He marvelled that he had put up with her so long. Full belly, sagging breasts. You could find better in any decent brothel. Then the door closed, and he was in darkness once more.
He breathed a sigh of relief. But, still, something was wrong.
Something was indeed wrong.
But by then it was too late.
The darkness glowed.
He stared at the glow incredulously. He wanted to cry out. He opened his mouth to call for the paras. But no sound came.
He stared hypnotised. The glow assumed outline, contours. It became the incandescent shape of a girl.
“My name is Vanessa,” said the girl. “You ordered my death.” She glowed pulsatingly, blindingly.
“No! No!” Sir Joseph Humboldt did not know whether his protest was vocal or if he were only shrieking in his mind.
“My name is Vanessa Smith,” went on the girl relentlessly. “You tried to destroy me, and now I will destroy you.”
“No! Please, please, no! I have so much to do. You don’t realise. There is so much responsibility!” He knew now that the words did not issue from his mouth. His mouth had been silenced. The words could only form in his mind.
The phantasm advanced. “I will lie with you, Sir Joseph Humboldt. I am fire, you are flesh. I will lie with you. My kiss shall burn the flesh from your jaw, my embrace shall consume your manhood, my arms, caressing you, will expose the charred ribs. Truly, it will be a great consummation.”
“No!”
She came towards him, glowing, pulsating, burning. He could feel the heat. Somehow, he managed to get out of bed. He was naked and felt naked. He knew now that there could be no more defence, but life was precious. So precious.
He backed away towards the window. She followed him. He felt the heat. Rationality had sped. He was i
n no condition to consider the philosophical implications of an apparent woman of fire. He backed away. The phantasm followed.
Somehow he managed to open the French windows. The air outside was clean, cool, moist. Perhaps it would help him to drive back this apparition.
He half-walked, half-fell on to the small balcony. The hour was late, Belgravia was quiet. He wanted to call upon the citizens of London to rise to his defence. But, in a moment of clarity, he knew that none would wish to defend him. He knew, at last, that he was alone.
The phantasm was inexorable. “One kiss only, my dear Sir Joseph. A kiss before dying.”
“No! No!” He recoiled in horror.
He leaned backwards. The phantasm advanced.
He leaned backwards, and fell with a long despairing cry.
The phantasm dissolved.
The paras in the room below heard Sir Joseph’s cry. Signora Maria Mancini heard his cry.
But there was nothing to be done.
Vanessa sighed.
Professor Raeder said: “Welcome home, Athens. It is accomplished?”
“It is accomplished.” The voice was Quasimodo’s.
“Rest easy, then, Athens. I am well pleased. At the count of ten, you will execute my command. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten. Disperse!”
Suddenly, the inert paranormals in the room began to stir, to shake themselves, rub their eyes.
Only Vanessa remained motionless.
Professor Raeder gazed at her. “So. Athens, perhaps, remains in shock. I will test her E.E.G. recording.”
Alfred was the first to recover full consciousness.
“Alfred, dear boy, I congratulate you for your efficient block. Kindly hold this laser pistol and point it meaningfully at Dr. Badel while I investigate Vanessa’s condition. Soon we shall all rest, but one wishes to leave matters tidy.”
Alfred, still yawning, took the laser pistol and held it towards Roland. Professor Raeder wheeled what was apparently an electro-encephalogram machine towards Vanessa’s trolley, and placed the helmet on her head.
“Amazing! She is still supercharged. Theoretically it is not possible. All the energy should have been discharged at Sir Joseph Humboldt. But she is still supercharged. How can this be?”
Prisoner of Fire Page 15
