Manalone

by Colin Kapp

  The field he was now passing led up the hill to the tree-line which hid the house itself. If he could avoid detection whilst crossing the field, it was possible that he could safely reach the trees and be within sight of the house itself. This would leave only the local defences to be overcome, which was a considerably better prospect than attempting to penetrate the gates and the drive.

  Around a farther bend he came across the home-farm itself – an installation which somehow managed to bridge the gap in time between the house it served and the world outside. Its clutter of buildings and outhouses was in strange contrast with the ugly, functional blocks of the super-intensive farms in the surrounding district; yet overall there was a sense of purpose and utility which showed a marked awareness of its function. Part of its function was underscored by a repeat of the warning notice from the gates by the lodge and the fact that the farm staff wore CALF uniforms and carried arms.

  Disappointed at finding such a military emphasis, Manalone turned back. As he did so, he was forced to stand hard against a hedge as a large, black manu-drive vehicle swept around the bend. He guessed its destination was the house on the hill, and this made him deliberately concentrate on the vehicle’s occupant. Although he caught only a fleeting glimpse as the manu-drive passed, the head and features of Alex Stormtrop, the prime minister, were unmistakable.

  ‘Interesting, Manalone! The elected representative of democracy coming to collect his orders from the supranational master-powers. Paul Raper was on exactly the right track. They killed him twice over for that. With all you know, Manalone, how many times over will they kill you?’

  A slowly setting sun was his only ally to assist in what he knew he had to do. As soon as the light had faded sufficiently to mask his movements against casual observation, he was going to have to force an entry into the domain of the Masterthinkers. Despite the odds against penetrating such formidable defences, he was certain that there must be a way in which it could be done. All he needed to do was find it. There would be no second chance if he guessed wrongly.

  ‘Alarm systems are two-state devices, Manalone. They either alarm or they don’t. But human beings are more complex. You mayn’t be able to avoid springing the alarms, but what happens if they appear to have been triggered for the wrong reason? Discretion permits the human mind to discount the real in favour of the obvious. And between the real and the obvious is a gap through which a man might enter.’

  He took a walk until the dusk was sufficiently advanced, then skirted the front of the estate, looking for the point where the cattle stood closest to the fence. The fence itself was no great obstacle, and since it was a cattle boundary, it was unlikely to be lethally charged. More probably, reliance was placed on some surveillance device to guard the outer perimeter. No cattle stood hard against the fence, but there was a group he judged near enough to baffle any radar-sensing of that corner of the field. Carefully noting the position of the house and placing himself so that the herd stood between him and the most probable direction of any scanning devices, he quickly climbed over the fence and ran immediately amongst the herd. It would be a remarkable scanner, he reasoned, which could detect a man crouching amongst a herd of cows.

  His arrival caused a degree of nervousness among the animals, but they soon calmed and resumed their noisy cropping of the grass. Having established his cover, his next problem was to encourage the herd to move up the hill towards the house. The electrified strip-grazing wires gave him an idea. These wires provided a mild shock sufficient only to turn the animals away from the wire and thus confine them to a selected grazing strip. To permit re-arrangement of the field layout, the conductors themselves were supported on a simple system of insulated metal stakes pressed into the ground. The power supply units were presumably located at the far ends of the wires, so that Manalone was presented with a simple termination. It was an easy matter to move the stakes from both sides closer together, thus closing off the end of the grazing strip, and this he accomplished without going far beyond the cover of the herd.

  At first the beasts were unwilling to move. Then Manalone had an idea. He dragged the end of the wire against their rumps. Protesting at the indignity, the whole body of them set slowly off up the hill. Having got them started, the task became easier. An occasional sting from the wire for those who lagged, served to keep them all moving, until he became aware that finally the herd could or would move no further. Exploring carefully around the exterior of the group of beasts, he found the reason for their reluctance.

  They were now at the head of the field, and only a short distance from the tree-line around the house. Here the grazing strip had been terminated by a cross-wire which kept the animals from straying too close to the fence. It was against this barrier that his unwilling accomplices were now halted. In the darkness he was unable to locate the power supply for the cross-wire. He contented himself with kicking the stakes to the ground so that the cattle could walk over the wire.

  This, he decided, was the critical point of the whole operation. The no-man’s-land between the edge of the field and the tree-line was the most logical place to find the traps and the alarms which protected the house. If he could force the cattle through whatever barriers lay ahead, he stood a chance of getting through himself. Certainly the action would spring many alarms, but with luck it would be some little time before anyone could prove that the breakthrough was other than an accident.

  37

  Manalone and the Forced Entry

  Now he had freed a path for the cattle straight through to the trees, Manalone needed speed. Not knowing what lay ahead in the nature of fences and traps, he was likely to accomplish more with a stampede than if the creatures merely walked ahead and were deflected by any minor barriers. The difficult question was how to frighten the animals sufficiently that they would charge blindly through whatever lay in their way. The sting of the electrified strip-wire was inadequate for the purpose, and he had no means of creating a sufficiently loud noise to startle the beasts into action.

  Thinking about alternatives, he remembered the igniter, still in his pocket. Fearing that the reserve of fuel was inadequate, he nevertheless pulled it out and set the control for high-rate discharge. He was rewarded with a two-metre jet of yellow flame which totally exceeded his expectations. So surprised was he by the reaction, that he singed his face and dropped the instrument on the ground. It fell near to one of the beasts, and a startled hoof smashed down on top of it, breaking open a seam and releasing the rest of the fuel to produce a brief but spectacular waist-high blaze.

  The stampede which he had sought to provoke, took place before he was ready for it. Instead of running with the beasts, he found himself trailing well behind as the herd panicked and ran from the sudden fire straight in the direction of the trees. The noise which followed was incredible and horrifying. He could only assume that the leaders had struck some sort of barrier, probably lethally electrified, and been violently killed. Such was the density and momentum of the following mass of frightened animals, that its impetus carried the remaining animals through, over the bodies of the dead, and sweeping away whatever barriers had existed. By the time Manalone reached the trees many of the beasts were dead or injured but the majority had passed through into the grounds of the house, where they set up a vociferous protest against such ill-usage.

  Overall, the sharp, punctuated screams of an alarm siren cut into the air, and the appearance of floodlights and the barking of dogs confused the startled cattle even more. The noise and indiscriminate turmoil which he had created impressed even Manalone. He had not hoped for any chaos as complete as this. Picking his route with extreme care so that he followed only where the beasts had safely passed, he pressed forward until he felt the hardness of a gravel path beneath his feet.

  Now soldiers were running towards the spot and vehicles with searchlights were sweeping along the drive. Manalone dropped behind a hedge adjacent to the path and crawled as quickly as possible away from the point whe
re the cattle had broken through. It would probably be daylight before it was established beyond doubt that the breakthrough of the beasts had been deliberately engineered. Hopefully the garrison would be too busy rounding-up half-crazed cows to speculate seriously whether somebody might have entered in the wake of such unlikely shock-troops. Even the dogs could have no clear idea of what constituted their quarry.

  In a situation where information was important for defence, the result of his intrusion was such that too much information would be available. With all the alarm monitors jammed with warnings, and with something like forty startled and suspicious beasts running through the ground, it could take some hours before the implications could be disentangled from the welter of warning signals which a sophisticated surveillance system would provide. This was all the time that Manalone needed to discover the Masterthinkers and make some sense of the remaining problems.

  He soon became aware, however, of a great deal of human activity in the area surrounding the house. Apart from paying attention to the immediate location of the breakthrough, it seemed likely that the entire perimeter was being searched. Soon he heard voices coming closer through the trees in front of him, and had again to jump the hedge back on to the path in order to avoid discovery. The path ended almost immediately at what appeared to be an autopark where a number of civil autovehicles were clustered on a square in front of the house.

  He could detect no movement in the area, nor any signs that the vehicle park was guarded. Accordingly he passed between the vehicles trying the handles, until he came to one which was unlocked. Thankfully he slipped into the rear seat and drew a travelling rug he found there over himself, and lay down out of sight, trying to sum up the dangers of his situation and attempting to plan his next move.

  Several times groups of people passed, but none attempted to examine or even appeared interested in the vehicles in the park. After a while the sounds of activity quietened, and he presumed that most of the beasts had been captured and driven back to the fields. Shortly, several more autovehicles came into the square, and various voices in deep discussion, passed close by. One voice in particular made him sit up and pay particular attention. Cautiously he peered from the rear window.

  ‘… who’s still working on the theory that it isn’t inevitable, and that reversibility can be made practical within the limits of natural wastage. Talk about innocents in high places!’

  ‘You know that voice, Manalone. It’s Kitten. Dressed like a lady and talking like an educated woman. But there’s no mistake about the voice. What a day of surprises this is turning out to be!’

  The sudden flare of headlights as further autovehicles arrived, made him drop back under his cover. At least five more people passed him and entered the house. This period of activity was then followed by a lull which caused him to consider it was time to make a move.

  ‘I guess the party’s started, Manalone. You aren’t quite dressed for it, and you smell of smoke and sweat and cattle, but if you don’t do your party-piece tonight you mayn’t get the chance to be invited back. So break out of your corner, wallflower. Go see if they’ll let you join the dance.’

  Warily he opened the auto’s door and climbed out. The square was deserted, and he felt reasonably sure that nobody yet suspected his presence. From the interior of the auto the house had appeared little but a vague mass in the darkness, lacking in detail and somehow awesome because it represented the end of a long trail of understanding. As he approached, however, the structure itself bestowed its own brand of awe upon him. Though he had guessed and even been prepared to find what he was finding, the actual reality filled him with a kind of terror.

  A perspective so blandly stated, dragged back all the shock of the image he had rejected one evening in his revelation at Cain’s club, and recalled the unwillingness of his mind to see what was set before him in the big old book. Something inside him shouted in horror at the prospect of having to reconcile two brands of reality. But he had no choice. He was trembling from head to foot as he finally approached the door.

  38

  Manalone and the Unthinkable Room

  The door was partly open. Whether this was by design or accident, he was unable to decide. It was plain, however, from the proportions of the door that had it been closed he would have been unable to open it himself. As it was, it took most of his strength to swing it inwards, and when he had done so he stopped and gasped in amazement.

  The door led not into a corridor as he had expected, but directly into a room: but such a room as this he had been unprepared to face. Apart from being an immaculate period piece, there was nothing unusual in the manner of decoration and furnishings. The problem was that everything was consistently three times as large as that to which he had been accustomed. The unusual perspectives thrust on him a feeling akin to vertigo. He almost reeled with the impression that the whole place was an optical illusion. However, it was no illusion. The room was completely real.

  ‘Steady, Manalone! You’d already deduced this in theory. It’s just having to face it that makes you want to cringe. Here’s the past they tried to bury, the history which got in the way. This is what lay beyond the gaps in reality. It’s the same reality viewed on a different scale. The differences weren’t in the observation, but in the observer. Not the past which was terrible, but ourselves who are.’

  The oak beam rising from the floor was solid to his touch. Its texture had the authenticity that only natural solid wood can have. The other beams and ties were solid also. Together they supported an expanse of leather – a chair of such proportions that his chin was even with the level of the seat.

  ‘Whoever said that giants belong to fairy tales …’

  The four really great oak spindles were turned in proper proportion and finished with all the care which could be bestowed by a craftsman worker in wood. Table legs taller than a man … antique … well used … He could walk underneath the table-top without difficulty.

  ‘You know what was done to the human race, Manalone. And you know why it was done. But knowledge is one thing and experience another. It’s the experience which makes you sick with apprehension.’

  The carpet was thick beneath his feet. The gross pile was difficult to walk on, yet its fitness in the gigantic scheme of the room was obvious. It was himself who was alien.

  ‘No stage mock-up, this, Manalone. Once this room was lived in. Everything used and well cared for. It’s all here just as it used to be. Nothing’s changed but the people. It’s the rest of the world that’s been scaled down.’

  Intrigued and gradually becoming bolder, he began to explore. Everything about the room had an atmosphere of age and solidity and a fitting massiveness; a rightness and a unity which made him feel that this was how things were intended to be. It depressed him to sense that his own concepts were, by comparison, trivial and imperfect, and could never attain the stature or the permanence of this unthinkable place. The idea left him feeling very small and very humbled.

  There were books on the shelves, most of them far larger than the old book which Shears had left for him on the raft. He would have liked to have pulled them out and read, but his hand was stayed partly by a feeling of sacrilege at interfering with relics of the past, and partly by an instinct that warned him something was wrong with his estimation of his own situation.

  ‘That door, Manalone, its being open was no accident. Even the lights in this room – precious old filament lamps, completely irreplaceable – left burning. There has to be a reason.’

  In his heart he knew the reason. It was another aspect of the casual education in the impossible to which he had found himself subjected since he had first become aware of his manipulation by the MIPS. This was a confirmation exercise – a plain statement of facts with no punches pulled – part of the test.

  ‘The only thing you need to know now, Manalone, is did you pass, or fail.’

  He looked around for a door other than the one by which he had entered. Shortly he foun
d it, massive and solidly built on the old scale. Even by standing on tip-toe he could only just grasp the doorknob above his head. It took the relocation of all his weight to induce the knob to turn. Finally he felt the latch give, and the door moved open slightly so that he could get his fingers around the edge and heave it open.

  ‘Come on in, Manalone!’ said Colonel Shears. ‘I was hoping you’d arrive in time.’

  39

  Manalone and the Masterthinkers

  Manalone was taken off guard by the note of warmth behind the invitation. His initial impression was that the phrase was sarcasm, but this was not substantiated. What he had presumed to be a gun in Shears’ hand proved to be no more than a dress baton. Slightly apprehensive, he followed the colonel through the door.

  Inside the room, fully a dozen people were seated around a long table. Manalone halted in front of them, painfully conscious of his dirty, unkempt appearance. An elderly man with a distinguished face and long white hair, rose from the table’s head to shake his hand.

  ‘So you’re Manalone! We’ve been hearing a great deal about you. On behalf of the Council, I bid you welcome.’

  He smiled, and aristocratic wrinkles ran up to the corners of his eyes. They were the same eyes which had peered out of the vidiphone screen at Manalone just after the police had raided his house.

  ‘Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Delton Hanser, President of the Council. You may already know some of the others, but I’ll arrange introductions later. There’s a few formalities we have to attend to first.’

  Whilst Hanser had been speaking, Manalone had been studying the people at the long table. Each had the look which he had previously described as significant. He recognized Alex Stormtrop and one or two of the others, but the rest were unfamiliar except that he might have seen their photographs in the scientific press. Kitten, Colonel Shears, and several others in MIPS uniform sat at a second, smaller table, and were obviously not part of the Council.