The 13th Science Fiction MEGAPACK®: 26 Great SF Stories!

by Lake, Jay

  They were lowered slowly to the gravelled area. “Leave the ship,” the voice directed, “and walk to the doorway you see.”

  Murdoch helped Waverill through the inner and outer hatches and led him toward the building. His information was that a force barrier sliced off this half of the circle from the other, and he could see that the hedges along the diameter pressed against some invisible plane surface. He hesitated as they came to it, and the voice said, “Walk straight ahead to the door. The field will be opened for you.”

  He guided Waverill in the right direction. As they passed the mid-point he felt an odd reluctance, a tingle and a slight resistance. Waverill grunted at it, but said nothing.

  The door slid open and they were in a plain room with doors at the left and right. The outer door closed behind them. The door on the right opened and Murdoch took Waverill through it. They were in a second room of the same size, bare except for a bench along one wall.

  The voice said, “Remove your clothing and pile it on the floor.”

  Waverill complied without protest, and after a second Murdoch did too. “Step back,” the voice said. They did.

  The clothing dropped through the floor, sluggishly in the light gravity. Murdoch grunted. There were weapons built into his clothes, and he felt uneasy without them.

  At the end of the room away from the middle of the building was another door like the one they’d come through. It opened and a robot walked in.

  It was humanoid in shape, flesh-colored but without animal details. The head had several features other than the eyes, but none of them was nose, mouth or ears. It stood looking at them for a minute, then said in the familiar voice, “Do not be alarmed if you feel something now.”

  There was a tingling, then a warmth, then a vibration, and some other sensations not easy to classify. Murdoch couldn’t tell whether they came from the robot or not. It was obvious, though, that the robot was scanning them. He resisted an urge to move his hands more behind him. He’d been well satisfied with the delicate surgery, but now he imagined it awkward and obvious.

  The robot didn’t seem to notice anything.

  After a minute the robot said, “Through the door where I entered you will find a bedroom and a bath and a place to cook. It is best you retire now and rest.”

  Murdoch offered his arm to Waverill, who grumbled a little but came along.

  The voice went on, seeming now to come from the ceiling, “Treatment will begin tomorrow. During convalescence Murdoch will care for Waverill. Sight will be restored within four days and you will be here one day after that then you may return to your ship. You will be protected from each other while you are here. If you keep your bargain you will be of no concern to us after you leave.”

  Murdoch watched Waverill’s face but it showed nothing. He was sure the billionaire already had arrangements to shut him up permanently as soon as he was no longer needed, and he didn’t intend, of course, to let those arrangements work out.

  II

  It developed that when the robot spoke of days, it meant a twenty-four-hour cycle of light and dark, with temperatures to suit. Under other circumstances, the place would have been comfortable.

  The pantry was stocked with Earthside food that didn’t help Murdoch’s confidence any, since it was further evidence of the aliens’ contacts with men. He cooked eggs and bacon, helped Waverill eat, then washed up the dishes.

  He felt uneasy without his clothes; the more because the weapons in them, through years of habit, were almost part of himself. He thought, I’m getting too jumpy too soon. My nerves have to last a long time yet.

  While he was putting the dishes to drain, the robot walked into the room and watched him for a moment. Then it said to Waverill, “Keep your hand on my shoulder and walk behind me.” It reached for Waverill’s right hand and placed it on its own right shoulder, revealing in the process that its arm was double-jointed. Then it simply walked through the wall. The blind man, without flinching and perhaps without being aware, passed through the seemingly firm substance.

  When they were gone, Murdoch went quickly to the wall and passed his hands over it. Solid.

  The voice came from the ceiling, “You can not penetrate the walls except when told to. Any place you can reach in this half of the grounds is open to you. The half where your ship is will remain cut off. You may amuse yourself as you wish so long as you do not willfully damage anything. We have gone to great effort to make this place comfortable for Terrans. Do not impair it for those who may come later.”

  Murdoch smiled inwardly. He’d known the walls would be solid; he’d only wanted to check the alien’s watchfulness. Now he knew that there was more to it than just the robot, and that the voice was standard wherever it came from.

  Not that the information helped any.

  * * * *

  He walked back to the middle of the building and went through the door across the lobby. In that half of the building were a library, a gymnasium and what was evidently a Solar System museum. There was nothing new to him in the museum. Though there were useful tables and data in the library, he was too tense to study. The gymnasium he’d use later.

  He went outside, walking gingerly on the gravel. The rear of the building was a featureless semi-circle, the lawns and hedges unvaried. He took deep breaths of the air perfumed by flowers.

  He jumped at a sudden buzz near his elbow. A bee circled up from a blossom and headed for the top of the building to disappear over the edge. Murdoch considered jumping for a hold and hauling himself up to the top of the building to see if there were hives there, but decided not to risk the aliens’ displeasure. He realized now that he’d been hearing the bees all the time without recognizing it, and was annoyed at himself for not being more alert. He paid more attention now, and saw that there were other insects too; ants and a variety of beetles. There were no birds, mammals, or reptiles that he could see.

  He parted the hedge and leaned close to the clear wall, shading the surface with his hands to see into the ice. There were a few rocks in sight. He found one neatly sliced in two by the force-field, or whatever it was, showing a trail of striations in the ice above it where it had slowly settled. On Ganymede, the rate of sink of a cool rock would be very slow in the ice.

  Far back in the dimness he could see a few vague objects that might have been large rocks or ships. There were some other things with vaguely suggestive shapes, like long-eroded artifacts. Nothing that couldn’t have been the normal fall-in from space.

  He went to the front of the building again and stood for a while, looking at the graveled other half of the place. He couldn’t see any insects there, and not a blade of grass. He approached the barrier and leaned against it, to see how it felt. It was rigid, but didn’t feel glass-hard. Rather it had a very slight surface softness, so he could press a fingernail in a fraction of a millimeter.

  He remembered that on Earth bees would blunder into a glass pane, and looked around to see if they hit the barrier. They didn’t. An inch or so from it, they turned in the air and avoided it. Neither could he see any insects crawling on the invisible surface. He pressed his face closer, and noticed again the odd reluctance he’d felt when crossing on the way in.

  At ground level, a dark line not more than a quarter of an inch thick marked where the barrier split the soil. Gravel heaped up against it on both sides.

  He looked again toward the ship. If things went according to plan, the ship’s proximity alarm would go off some time within the next two days. He didn’t think the aliens would let him go to the ship, but he expected the diversion to help him check out something he’d heard about the barrier.

  He flexed his thumbs, feeling the small lumps implanted in the web of flesh between thumb and finger on each hand. He’d practiced getting the tiny instruments in and out until he could do it without thinking. But no
w the whole project seemed ridiculously optimistic.

  He felt annoyed at himself again. It’s the aliens, he thought, that are getting my nerves. I’ve pulled plenty of jobs as intricate as this without fretting this way.

  * * * *

  He began another circuit around the building, and was at the rear when the voice said, almost at his shoulder, “Murdoch, Waverill wants you.”

  His employer lay on his cot, looking drowsy. He scowled at Murdoch’s footsteps. “Where you been? I want a drink.”

  Murdoch involuntarily glanced around. “Will they let you have it, sir?”

  The voice came from the ceiling this time. “One ounce of hundred-proof liquor every four hours.”

  “Is there any here?” Murdoch asked.

  “Tell us where to find it and we will get it from your ship.”

  Murdoch told them where the ship’s supply of beverages was stowed, and headed for the front of the building. The robot was already in the lobby. It allowed him to follow outside, but said, “Stand back from the barrier.”

  Murdoch leaned against the building, trying not to show his eagerness. This was an unexpected break. He watched the ground level as the robot passed through the barrier. The dark line in the ground didn’t change. The gravel stayed in place on both sides. Neither did the plants to the sides move. Evidently the barrier only opened at one spot to let things through.

  The robot had no trouble with the hatches, and came out quickly with a bottle in one hand. Murdoch worried again whether it had discovered that the ship’s alarm was set. If so, it didn’t say anything as it drew near. It handed Murdoch the bottle and disappeared into the building.

  After a few moments Murdoch followed. He found Waverill asleep, but at his footsteps the older man stirred. “Murdoch? Where’s that drink?”

  “Right away, sir.” Murdoch got ice from the alien’s pantry, put it in a glass with a little water and poured in about a jigger of rye. He handed it to Waverill, then poured himself a straight shot. Rye wasn’t his favorite, but it might ease his nerves a little.

  “Mm,” said Waverill, “’S better.”

  Murdoch couldn’t see any marks on him. “Did they stick any needles into you, sir?”

  “I’m not paying you to be nosey.”

  “Of course not, sir. I only wanted to know so I wouldn’t touch you in a sore spot.”

  “There are no sore spots,” Waverill said. “I want to sleep a couple of hours, so go away. Then I’ll want a steak and a baked potato.”

  “Surely, sir.”

  Murdoch went outside again and toured the grounds without seeing anything new. He went to the barrier and stared at the ship for a while. Then, to work off tension, he went into the gymnasium and took a workout. He had a shower, looked in on Waverill and found him still asleep, then went back to the library. The books and tapes were all Terran, with no clues about the aliens. The museum was no more helpful. It was a relief when he heard Waverill calling.

  There were steaks in the larder, and potatoes. Waverill grumbled at the wait while Murdoch cooked. The older man still acted a little drowsy, but had a good appetite. After eating he wanted to rest again.

  Murdoch wandered some more, then forced himself to sit down in the library and pretend to study. He went over his plans again and again.

  They were tenuous enough. He had to get a drop of Waverill’s blood sometime within the next day or two, and get it past the barrier. Then he had to get it into the ship and, once away from Ganymede, inoculate himself. The problem of Waverill didn’t worry him. The drowsiness would have to be coped with, but based on the time-table Waverill’s symptoms would give him, he should be able to set up a flight plan which would allow him to nap.

  The time dragged agonizingly. He had two more drinks during the “afternoon”, took another workout and a couple of turns around the building, and finally saw the sunlamps dimming. After that there was a time of lying on his bunk trying to force himself to relax. Finally he did sleep.

  III

  He was awake again with the first light; got up and wandered restlessly into the pantry. In a few minutes he heard Waverill stirring. “Murdoch!” came the older man’s voice.

  Murdoch went to him. “Yes, sir. I was just going to get breakfast.”

  “I can see the light!”

  “You—that’s wonderful, sir!”

  “I can see the light! Dammit, where are you? Take me outside!”

  “It’s no brighter out there, sir.” Murdoch was dismayed. He’d counted on another day before Waverill’s sight began to return; with a chance to arrange a broken drinking glass, a knife in Waverill’s way, something to bring blood in an apparent accident. Now....

  “Take me outside!”

  “Yes, sir.” Murdoch, his mind spinning, guided the older man.

  The door slid open for them and Waverill crowded through. As he stepped on the gravel with his bare feet, he said, “Ouch! Damn it!”

  “Step lightly, sir, and it won’t hurt.” Murdoch had a sudden wild hope that Waverill would cut his feet on a sharp pebble. But there were no sharp pebbles; they were all rounded; and the light gravity made it even more unlikely.

  Waverill raised his head and swung it to the side. “I can see spots of light up there.”

  “The sunlamps, sir. They’re getting brighter.”

  “I can see where they are.” The older man’s voice was shaky. He looked toward Murdoch. “I can’t see you, though.”

  “It’ll come back gradually, sir. Why don’t you have breakfast now?”

  Waverill told him what to do with breakfast. “I want to stay out here. How bright is it now? Is it like full daylight yet?”

  “No, sir. It’ll be a while yet. You’ll be able to feel it on your skin.” Murdoch was clammy with the fear that the other’s sight would improve too fast. He looked around for some sharp corner, some twig he could maneuver the man into. He didn’t see anything.

  “What’s that sweet smell?” Waverill wanted to know.

  “Flowers, sir. There’s a blossoming hedge around the walkways.”

  “I’ll be able to see flowers again. I’ll....” The older man caught himself as if ashamed. “Tell me what this place looks like.”

  Murdoch described the grounds, meanwhile guiding Waverill slowly around the curved path. Somewhere, he thought, there’ll be something sharp I can bump him into. He had a wild thought of running the man into a wall; but a bloody nose would be too obvious.

  “I can feel the warmth now,” Waverill said, “and I can tell that they’re brighter.” He was swiveling his head and squinting, experimenting with his new traces of vision.

  * * * *

  Murdoch carried on a conversation with half his attention, while his mind churned. He thought, I’ll have to resist the feeling that it’s safer here in back of the building. They’ll be watching everywhere. He wished he could get the man inside; under the cover of serving breakfast he could improvise something. I’m sweating, he thought. I can just begin to feel the lamps, but I’m wet all over. I’ve got to—

  He drew in his breath sharply. From somewhere he heard the buzz of a bee. His mind leaped upon the sound. He stopped walking, and Waverill said, “What’s wrong with you?”

  “Nothing. I—stepped on a big pebble.”

  “They all feel big to me. Damned outrage; taking away a man’s....” Waverill’s voice trailed off as he started experimenting with his eyes again.

  There were more bees now, and presently Murdoch saw one loop over the edge of the building and search along the hedge. The first of them, he thought. There’ll be more. He looked along the hedge. Most of the blossoms hadn’t really closed for the night, though the petals were drawn together. He walked as slowly as he dared. The buzzing moved tantalizingly closer, then away. />
  A second buzz added itself. He heard the insect move past them, then caught it in the corner of his eye.

  Waverill stopped. “Is that a bee? Here?”

  “I guess they keep them to fertilize the plants, sir.”

  “They bother me. I can’t tell where they are.”

  “I’ll watch out for them, sir.”

  He could see the insect plainly now, and thought, I have an excuse to watch it. The buzz changed pitch as the bee started to settle, then changed again as it moved on a few feet. Murdoch clamped his teeth in frustration. He tried to wipe his free hand where trousers should have been, and discovered that his thigh was sweaty too. He thought, surely Waverill must feel how sweaty my arm is.

  The bee flirted with another flower, then settled on a petal. Tense, Murdoch subtly moved Waverill toward the spot. He could see every move of the insect’s legs as it crawled into the bell of the flower.

  “You can smell the blossoms more now, sir,” he said. His throat felt dry, and he thought his voice sounded odd. “It’s warming up and bringing out the smell, I guess.” He halted, and tried not to let his arm tense or tremble. “This is a light blue blossom. Can you see it?”

  “I—I’m not sure. I can see a bright spot a little above my head and right in front of me.”

  “That’s a reflection off the ice, sir. The flower’s down here.” Holding his breath, he took Waverill’s hand and moved it toward the flower. He found himself gritting his teeth and wincing as Waverill’s fingers explored delicately around the flower.

  The bee crawled out, apparently not aware of anything unusual, and moved away a few inches. It settled on a leaf and began working its legs together.

  Murdoch felt like screaming.

  Waverill’s fingers stopped their exploration, then, as the bee was silent, began again. Waverill bent over to bring his eyes closer to his hand.